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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28059903">Coming Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireInATrenchCoat/pseuds/VampireInATrenchCoat'>VampireInATrenchCoat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Dean Winchester, Castiel Being an Idiot (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester Being an Idiot, Dean Winchester's First Time With a Man, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fix-It, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Post-Canon, Season/Series 15, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:07:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>68,792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28059903</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireInATrenchCoat/pseuds/VampireInATrenchCoat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The world was saved, yet again. There was no impending Apocalypse looming on the horizon, no powerful, cosmic entities currently planning the end of their world. Heaven and Hell were at peace, for the first time in a long, long time. People could finally go on with their lives however they pleased, because now every single person was responsible for their own future. They could write their own stories. The sick, egotistical puppeteer was gone. The strings had officially been cut. For the first time in their lives, they were truly, utterly <em>free.</em></p><p>But then why did Dean feel so numb? So empty? Why didn’t this feel like an actual <em>win?</em></p><p>Well, he knew why, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to think about it.</p><p>Set after 15x19, “Inherit the Earth”.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, I could write a whole freaking book about everything I hated about that finale—well, about both 15x19 <em>and</em> 15x20, really, but you get what I mean. Seriously, I could rant for <em>hours</em> without end, but I've already done enough of that over on Tumblr, so I'm not gonna do that here.</p><p>Instead, I'm just going to fix that awful, ridiculous mess. Okay? Yes. Okay.</p><p>Let's do this.</p><p>Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. The title of this story and the lyrics featured at the beginning of the first chapter come from the song "Coming Home" by Diddy / Dirty Money, which I also do not own.<br/><br/><strong>Important Warnings!</strong></p><p>1- This story does take place after 15x19, but I borrowed a lot of elements from 15x20, so there are some <strong>spoilers for the series finale</strong> in here too. If you haven't seen it yet... well, don't. There's no need to put yourself through that kind of pain, really. Trust me. Pretend this is canon. This is what really happened, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. That's what <em>I'm</em> doing, anyway.</p><p>2- There's a whole lot of grief and mourning in the first few chapters, and Dean is in a <em>very</em> bad place mentally in the beginning of this story. Seriously, guys, it's bad, so please keep that in mind. And while he's not <em>actually</em> suicidal... well, he's pretty freaking close, especially in one particular scene in this first chapter, where he goes down a pretty dangerous train of thought. He's... well, he's basically depressed.</p><p>3- Also, even though I did basically write 15x20 into this first chapter, please take note that <strong>there's no Major Character Death warning</strong> on this story. Okay? Okay. Good.</p><p>4- Destiel will be the main focus of this story. All other relationships, including Sam/Eileen, will be minor or background relationships, although Sam/Eileen will get more focus than the others.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“I’m coming home, I’m coming home,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tell the world I’m coming home.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let the rain wash away,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>All the pain of yesterday.”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>*~*~*~*~*</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“You know, with Chuck not writing our story anymore, we get to write our own. You know, just you and me, going wherever the story takes us. Just us.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Finally free.”</em>
</p><p>Those words had sounded hollow, almost empty as they slipped past his lips. They almost felt like a lie, with how meaningless they seemed, how pointless.</p><p>Because really, what was the fucking point?</p><p>Yeah, they’d saved the world—Dean definitely hadn’t forgotten about that, because how the hell could he? No, he was pretty freaking glad that they’d actually done it in the end, that they’d <em>won—</em>even if, well, if you wanted to get technical about it, Jack was really the one who’d done all the heavy lifting. Dean and Sam would have died on that beach if it wasn’t for him—that was just a fact, and they were both very much aware of it. No one was trying to deny it.</p><p>And all those people out there who were now going to get a chance to actually live their lives—free from the crazy, control freak of a writer who’d had all of them hanging from puppet strings all their lives, who never actually gave a single fuck about them in the first place. The sick, egotistical puppeteer was gone, and now every single person in this world could write their own stories, create their own endings. Everyone could do whatever they wanted—they could <em>be</em> whatever they wanted, because for the first time ever, their lives were truly, utterly <em>theirs.</em></p><p>This was a good thing—it really, <em>really</em> was. They did good. Fuck, they did the <em>unthinkable.</em> They’d literally gone up against God—the Big Boss, the Creator of everything they knew, one of the most powerful beings in all of existence, in all universes—and they’d <em>won.</em> They’d saved the world, yet again—hopefully for the last time. God—well, <em>Jack</em> knew they’d stopped enough Apocalypses for a freaking lifetime.</p><p>But Dean didn’t feel as happy as he’d thought he would, now that it was all over. He didn’t feel… fulfilled. He didn’t feel proud, or like a winner. He’d imagined this moment so many times over the past year—the day he’d smile up at the sun and realize that he could finally live his life, that he was finally <em>free. </em>He’d <em>yearned </em>for it, with every single fiber of his being. He’d dreamt about it for <em>so long</em>, he thought he’d be ecstatic when it finally happened, that he’d be over the fucking <em>moon</em> once everything was said and done.</p><p>But that didn’t happen. No, instead, he felt… he just felt <em>numb.</em></p><p>The happiness, the relief—it hadn’t really come yet, and at this point, Dean really wasn’t sure that it would. He felt… disconnected, in a way? Sure, it was good to turn on the TV from time to time and see all the people who were still alive because of them, to hear all the stories on the news that would never have had a chance to play out if they hadn’t defeated Chuck, but Dean still felt weirdly unaffected by all of it, and he hated it. He <em>wanted</em> to feel happy for those people, to feel glad and proud of what they'd done, but he… he just <em>couldn’t.</em></p><p>As it turned out, he really was fucking broken.</p><p>There was also an odd feeling that accompanied him during every second of every day now—like a heavy weight had settled inside his chest, one that he’d been carrying around for about three weeks now, and that really didn’t feel like it would be going away anytime soon. It felt like an iron fist had closed around his heart, squeezing it constantly, making his chest feel tight and uncomfortable pretty much all the time. That feeling was just so bad that on most days, Dean actually found it a little hard to breathe because of it.</p><p>The days that followed their big showdown against Chuck were quiet. Sure, he and Sam had gone for a little celebratory drive once everything was said and done, but they really didn’t see much of each other after they got back to the Bunker, each brother deciding to do his own thing, to be alone for a while as they both tried to process the events of the last few days.</p><p>In truth, though, Dean knew they were both grieving.</p><p>As far as they knew, all the people who’d disappeared when Chuck had gone full-on Thanos on the entire freaking planet had come back exactly as they’d been before they vanished—and apparently, with no recollection of ever being missing at all. That whole final battle had gone by in the blink of an eye for most people on the planet, and the vast majority of the world population didn’t even know it’d happened. No, they just kept going on with their lives like nothing had happened, because Jack had been kind enough to reset all clocks around the world back to the time when people had started disappearing, and apparently to also erase the memories of anyone who might have remembered more than they should. Sure, everyone had only been gone for a few days, but someone was still bound to notice the change in dates, and they'd certainly be pretty freaking confused to suddenly find themselves a whole freaking week in the future.</p><p>On top of that, Jack had also undone all the damage that had been done when people started disappearing—all the car crashes, broken and dropped objects, all the damaged property. Jack had basically reset the world to the way it’d been before Chuck had started picking it all apart, and apparently, no one actually remembered anything weird happening at all—except for Sam, Dean, and everyone who’d been aware of what was happening <em>before</em> it happened, like Donna, Jody, Garth, Charlie, Bobby and the rest of the Apocalypse World refugees.</p><p>For all the other people on the planet, though, it really was like nothing had happened, and the world just kept going as always, as if it’d never stopped going at all.</p><p>The only thing that was pretty confusing at first, the one thing that didn't make any sense, was Eileen. The fact that everyone who’d been zapped away had been brought back <em>should </em>have meant that she’d come back too, but the complete radio silence that Sam got from her during those first few days after Jack took on the God mantle had led Dean to assume the worst—that maybe Eileen hadn’t simply been zapped away by Chuck. Maybe the psycho had actually gone after her and <em>killed </em>her, just for kicks, which meant she wasn’t coming back.</p><p>And <em>that</em> was particularly dreadful thought that was obviously hanging over Sam’s head like a dark cloud. Dean could see it clearly on the handful of times they actually ran into each other. He could see it in the deep, dark bags carved under Sam’s eyes, or in the empty, glassy look that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his little brother’s eyes. The whole thing was truly heartbreaking, and if Dean wasn’t currently dealing with some pretty damn awful grief of his own, he would be doing his best to try and make Sam feel better. He’d give almost anything just to see his brother smile again.</p><p>Much to Dean’s relief, however, that wasn’t actually necessary, and about a week after the big showdown against Chuck, when someone knocked on the Bunker’s door, it was Eileen.</p><p>The moment she walked in through that front door, it was like the life had suddenly returned to Sam’s eyes. Honestly, it was such a beautiful thing to see—the way Sam’s entire face split into the first real smile Dean had seen from him in <em>weeks, </em>the way he pulled Eileen into his arms so tightly that she let out a tiny, startled noise in her throat, which was quickly followed by a small laugh and a smile bright enough to match Sam's.</p><p>Eventually, after a hug that lasted for about a whole minute too long and that had Dean awkwardly shifting his weight on his feet and wondering if maybe he should just make a quiet exit and give those two some privacy, Sam had finally pulled away from Eileen and asked, breathless and barely even managing to form any words, where she’d been and why she hadn’t called to tell him that she was freaking <em>alive</em>, although the answer to those questions <em>should</em> be obvious enough, if you just took one good look at her. Her right arm was currently pressed against her chest, kept in place by the sling she had wrapped around her shoulder. There were also several small, yet unmistakable cuts sprinkling her face, a big, ugly purple bruise on her throat, and a big curative stuck to her forehead.</p><p>Apparently, coming back from the dead hadn’t been a fun experience for her, because as it turned out, Chuck <em>had</em> gone after her specifically, even if he’d zapped everyone else away from a safe distance. But he’d wanted her to suffer, because he was just a sick bastard like that, and he’d actually gone a few rounds on her before he finally sent her away. She’d tried to hold her ground against him, of course, because she was just a badass like that, but Dean and Sam knew firsthand how useless a fist fight turned out to be when you’re going up against <em>God. </em>She’d actually come out of it fairly well, all things considered—with no more than a dislocated shoulder, a sprained wrist, some minor cuts and bruises, a couple cracked ribs and a pretty nasty concussion to tell the story.</p><p>Again, Eileen was just a badass like that.</p><p>And since Jack had basically reset the world to its previous state, before Chuck had snapped everyone away, not only did Eileen remember every single second of her unpleasant run-in with Chuck, but her injuries also hadn’t been healed when she’d come back, so she’d had to be taken to a hospital, and since Sam had actually <em>kept</em> her phone after they’d found it lying broken on that sidewalk, she hadn’t had any way to contact them. So she’d spent the last few days recovering, and once she was well enough for it, she'd finally managed to make the trip to Kansas.</p><p>And Dean had to admit it—he actually got a little teary-eyed just from watching those two interact, even if that weight on top of his heart suddenly seemed about a thousand times heavier than it’d been before. It was nice—no, it was pretty freaking <em>fantastic</em>, really, to see Sam so genuinely happy, for <em>once. </em>He really deserved it, after everything they’d been through, especially this past year.</p><p>Too bad Dean wouldn’t be getting a happy ending like that.</p><p>Once those two broke away from each other and Dean finally got a chance to properly greet Eileen and welcome her back, he’d quickly retreated back to his room, because he definitely didn’t want to get in the way of, well, whatever Sam and Eileen would be getting up to next, however they planned on celebrating her return to the land of the living.</p><p>That day, Dean made a mental note to avoid walking past Sam’s room for the foreseeable future, just to be safe.</p><p>So during the days that followed, Dean did the exact same things he’d been doing before—eating when his body demanded it, sleeping when his eyelids grew so heavy from the combination of exhaustion and alcohol that he just couldn’t keep them open anymore, and only getting up from his bed when his bladder was about to explode and he had no other choice but to drag his sorry ass over to the bathroom to relieve himself.</p><p>His only spark of joy throughout those days—small as it may be—was Miracle.</p><p>Now, don’t give him that look. Dean knew he'd always had some particularly strict rules concerning dogs in his car—or, well, about dogs being near him in general, really—but that dog had been the one light Dean had stumbled across in a whole sea of bad, one tiny beacon of hope in an awful lot of darkness. He’d barely even been able to contain his relief, his <em>hope</em> when he’d first found the poor thing at that gas station, so it really was no wonder that he hadn’t thought twice about picking him up and bringing him over to the Impala.</p><p>And even after the world was fixed, even after Chuck was dealt with and everything was back to the way it should be, when he saw Miracle again, Dean didn’t… he just hadn't found it in himself to leave him behind, just wandering around alone and without anyone to take care of him, no matter how many surprised, mildly-exasperated looks Sam may have sent his way while Dean picked the poor puppy up from the street and placed him in the backseat of the Impala, announcing that the dog was going back with them to the Bunker and that he wouldn't be taking any questions at that time.</p><p>So yeah, Dean had brought Miracle back to the Bunker, and the fluffy, silly puppy was really starting to grow on him—especially when he decided he wanted attention and would just hop up on the bed and cuddle up to Dean first thing in the morning. Hugging him also made Dean feel just a tiny bit better, made that weight in his chest feel just a tiny, <em>tiny </em>bit lighter, and really, he would take whatever he could get at this point.</p><p>Because if he gave in to the darkness inside of him, to all the grief, all the pain he could feel constantly filling his chest, if he simply let himself drown in all the sorrow currently raging up a storm inside of him… well, he feared he might not be able to come up for air again.</p><p>It took him a while to get to a point where he actually thought he might be starting to get better, but now, two weeks after the final showdown, Dean was finally starting to feel… <em>functional</em> again, to some degree. He'd started eating better, sleeping more regularly, and trying to do more than just mope around and watch shitty daytime television until he just couldn’t take it anymore. On the thirteenth day after they saved the world, he made the executive decision to try and push himself out of his comfort zone, so he'd started venturing out of his room more, offered to go out and do groceries, and started taking showers more regularly. He'd even considered taking Miracle out for a walk a couple times, but he had yet to work up the nerve to actually do it, because—well, Dean Winchester just didn’t do freaking <em>walks.</em></p><p>Maybe someday, he thought. In the meantime, he’d leave it up to Sam. He knew his fitness-obsessed, rabbit-food-loving brother didn’t mind, and he’d been going out on walks every morning anyway, for some fucking reason, so it all worked out in the end.</p><p>And Dean definitely wasn’t blind—he knew Miracle was really starting to grow on Sam, too. The big, hairy moose might try to deny it, might roll his eyes whenever Dean handed him Miracle’s leash in the morning and asked him to take the dog out for some cardio, but Dean could see right through it.</p><p>But, well, this wasn’t about Sam.</p><p>No, the point here was, Dean <em>was</em> getting better. Sure, it was a very, <em>very</em> slow process, he was aware, but again, he would take whatever he could get at this point. The nightmares were finally letting up, spacing themselves out instead of haunting him at every attempt he made at getting some rest, instead of making him wake up sweaty and gasping several times throughout the night, with his hands shaking, his heart racing inside his chest and the image of thick, black goo swirling through the air still flashing in the back of his eyelids.</p><p>Hell, he didn’t even need to drink himself to sleep anymore—and that was a <em>huge</em> fucking relief. His liver was definitely rejoicing at this point.</p><p>Seriously, he was getting better—he <em>was. </em>He was starting to feel like himself again, to actually start wondering <em>where </em>exactly he was going now, where he <em>wanted </em>to go.</p><p>This was the first time in all his life that Dean was actually getting a choice on what he was going to do from now on, and he was definitely not going to waste it, damn it.</p><p>But the thing was… he didn’t actually <em>know</em> what he wanted to do.</p><p>He knew what most people would think—that he would just go back to hunting, that he and Sam should just bounce right back to what they’d been doing all these years, that they'd both just go right back to saving people, hunting things—the family business. Really, that’s probably <em>exactly</em> what most people would expect from the both of them.</p><p>But… well, Dean just wasn’t sure that he actually wanted to do that.</p><p>The truth was, he was tired—so, <em>so </em>tired. He’d meant what he said to Sam all those months ago, about wanting a break from all this, to just… dip his toes in the sand and finally get some <em>rest. </em>And now that the dust had finally settled, now that the world was saved and the big bad was dealt with, now that there were no longer any powerful, egotistical cosmic entities trying to destroy the whole freaking world, Dean just wanted… fuck, he just wanted to <em>rest.</em></p><p>They’d earned it—both of them. Chilling at the beach, toes in the sand, just Dean, Sam and—</p><p>No. <em>No.</em></p><p>
  <em>Don’t… don’t think about that.</em>
</p><p>Dean’s hand closed up and squeezed the front of his desk, the sharp, wooden edge of it digging into his palm. He closed his eyes shut, pulling in a big, deep breath in a futile effort to try and steady himself, to bring himself back down to Earth before his mind could wander somewhere it really shouldn’t go right now. He still felt a painful tug at his heart, though—that same sharp, unforgiving stab of pain that always made itself known inside his chest whenever a particular memory slipped into his mind, one that was at the same time absolutely exhilarating and so unbelievably <em>awful</em> that as he let that breath out, carefully pushing it out of his lungs, a tiny, pained sound escaped his throat without his permission, coming out like a strangled, pathetic little thing that should never have seen the light of day.</p><p>He shook his head, pushing away all the ugly, heart-wrenching thoughts that he could feel slowly creeping up on him, shoving them into the deep, dark corner of his mind where he’d been keeping them locked up for the past three weeks.</p><p>The only way that he would ever heal, that he would ever fucking <em>move on</em>, was if he didn’t let himself think about it, and that was exactly what he planned on doing here.</p><p>With a big, weary sigh, Dean raised a hand, using it to rub at his spent, burning eyes for a moment before lowering it back down to rest on top of his desk. His eyes were still stinging with something more than just tiredness, but he still forced himself to look down, eyeing the form he’d been staring at for the past half hour, trying to decide what the hell to do with it.</p><p>He’d printed it out a couple days ago, but he hadn’t allowed himself to put too much thought into it since then. That small pile of papers had been staring at him from across the room ever since, silently mocking the fact that it was really taking him this long to just read through the whole thing and, if he was feeling bold enough, fill out the blank spaces.</p><p>It really wasn’t much—just a position for a mechanic at a local garage, but it was already <em>something </em>that he could do. He knew his way around cars, and he could work on one with a blindfold over his eyes and one hand tied behind his back, so that job was pretty much perfect for him. Also, it was something to occupy his mind, something that he could actually invest his time on, and he would even make a little money off of it—which, by the way, was something they should probably start worrying about now. They'd done what they'd set out to do. They’d defeated Chuck, so what guarantee did they have that their luck wouldn’t just run out again and they’d have to actually start paying for shit? Fortuna could literally just wave her hand in the air and they would go right back to breaking dishes, getting parking tickets and dealing with suspended credit cards, which definitely wasn't ideal.</p><p>And Dean really, <em>really </em>didn’t want to let Garth have another go at his freaking teeth. He didn’t plan on getting another cavity for the rest of his freaking <em>life, </em>thank you very much.</p><p>Getting a normal, <em>paying </em>job was the first step toward a… a new life—a <em>free</em> life, where Dean could do whatever the hell he wanted, where he was no longer being controlled by an egotistical writer pulling at his metaphorical strings, making all his choices for him. Dean had finally broken out of the hamster wheel, and he planned to start acting like it.</p><p>And even if the mechanic thing didn’t work out, or even if he just didn’t like it, so what? This was the first choice he was making as a free man, and that meant something. He had a chance to live his life, with absolutely <em>nothing </em>holding him back, and he was damn well going to make the best of it.</p><p>For the first time in his life, he was actually going to let himself <em>live—</em>he <em>was.</em></p><p>Or else Cas had died for <em>nothing</em>.</p><p>The sound of his pen hitting the floor made Dean jump, since he didn’t even realize it’d slipped from his hand until it was already hitting the linoleum by his feet. He shook his head, wincing as he rested his elbows on top of his desk, pressing his palms against his face and letting out another big, frustrated breath.</p><p>
  <em>Stop thinking like that. Cas didn’t die for nothing—he died to save <strong>you. </strong>He died so you could keep fighting, so you could save the <strong>world</strong>—and you did. You <strong>did.</strong></em>
</p><p>
  <em>And now he’s rotting in the Empty, for all eternity. He’s dead, and alone, and you didn’t even fucking—</em>
</p><p>The sound of the chair’s legs scraping against the floor was loud and ugly, and the thing almost toppled over because he'd moved too quickly, too abruptly, but Dean paid it no mind as he jumped up to his feet. He took a few steps around the room, pacing as he ran his hand over his rough, growing beard—which was in a desperate need of a shave, mind you.</p><p>He needed to stop thinking about this. He needed… fuck, he needed to get over it, to forget. He needed to move <em>on.</em></p><p>Cas wasn’t coming back—that was just a fact. The last time Cas had been in the Empty, he’d managed to get himself sent back to Earth because he’d annoyed the damn Shadow creature that ruled over the place enough that eventually it just grew tired of him, and it decided that instead of forcing Cas back to sleep (or whatever it was that angels and demons did over there), it would just be easier to spit him out of the Empty and send him back to Earth.</p><p>But Dean knew that wouldn’t happen again—not when Cas had literally made a deal with the damn thing. The Empty wouldn’t let him go this time. It wouldn’t send him back, no matter what he did or said over there.</p><p>Asking Jack to bring Cas back hadn’t worked either—which, Dean had to admit, kinda stung. After he and Sam had gotten back to the Bunker, Dean had—naturally—spent the next couple of days getting himself absolutely shitfaced, shoving a truly unhealthy amount of alcohol down his throat no matter what time of day it may be, downing swig after swig of whiskey like he was drinking fucking <em>water, </em>because that’s what he felt like doing and he just didn’t give a shit if anyone thought that was a stupid thing to do. He just didn’t fucking <em>care.</em></p><p>And on the third day, once he’d reached the point where rational thought completely escaped him, he’d started praying—first to Cas, because his stupid drunken mind didn’t seem to realize that Cas definitely couldn’t hear him in the Empty, and when that obviously brought him absolutely no results at all, he’d tried Jack.</p><p>To be perfectly honest, though, Dean didn’t exactly remember everything he’d said to Jack, but he was pretty sure he’d cried at some point, and that he must have said something along the lines of, “He was your <em>dad</em>, damn it. How the hell can you just <em>leave </em>him there?” He was pretty sure a few sobs broke his words halfway through. And that his voice probably broke, too. That whole scene had probably been pretty pathetic and sad, come to think of it. He was kinda glad that he couldn't really remember it, thinking back on it now.</p><p>The one thing he remembered clearly, though—the <em>one </em>thing that was still ingrained in his freaking memory, practically carved onto the back of his eyelids, was the damn note he’d found resting on his nightstand when he finally achieved consciousness again the next day. He hadn’t even noticed it at first, considering he’d been suffering from the worst hangover known to mankind and he could barely even lift his head from his pillow or open his eyes properly, but after a long, much-needed trip to the bathroom, which had the sole purpose of providing him with the opportunity to puke his freaking guts out for a few minutes into the good ol’ porcelain throne, he’d finally spotted the small, colorful piece of paper the moment he'd walked back into his room.</p><p>His heart had jumped up to his freaking throat the second he’d laid his eyes on it, but then it'd plummeted down to the fucking ground the moment he read the words scribbled onto it—in a painfully familiar, blocky handwriting undoubtedly worthy of a three-year-old nephilim—or, well, nephilim-turned-God now.</p><p>
  <strong>I’m sorry, Dean. I can’t.</strong>
</p><p>So, yeah. That was that.</p><p>Cas wasn’t getting out of the Empty on his own this time, and Jack was apparently not willing to do it—to save his <em>own freaking father,</em> probably because he didn’t want to fucking interfere, because he wanted to be ‘hands-off’ or whatever else kind of bullshit the kid was trying to use as an excuse for this. And it wasn’t that he <em>couldn’t</em> do it, because Chuck had brought Cas back from the Empty countless times before—hell, he’d done it just two damn weeks ago with Lucifer, so really, Dean definitely wasn’t buying that Jack couldn’t do it. No, he just didn’t <em>want</em> to do it.</p><p>Needless to say, Dean was a little pissed at him, because Jack's silence... well, it left him with no other options.</p><p>Now, don’t look at him like that—Dean <em>had</em> tried to find another way. He’d spent several days <em>and </em>nights going through every single book on angels that he could find in the Bunker, scouring the Men of Letters’ entire library and archives in the hopes that he might be able to find even the smallest hint or mention of any way to bring an angel back from the Empty, but he’d found nothing. He didn’t even come across a mention of the Empty itself, except for one vague passage that claimed, ‘angels, once fallen in battle, go on to rest in the void of nothingness where they’d originally come from’, which just wasn’t promising at all and honestly made Dean feel a little sick to his stomach.</p><p>So the bottom line here was—there was no way for them to bring Cas back. Just… none. Nothing.</p><p>And Dean would just have to accept that. He'd just have to live with the fact that Cas had, in a desperate, last-ditch effort to save Dean’s life, poured his freaking heart out to him in the most beautiful, heart-wrenching way possible, and Dean didn’t even get the chance to <em>fucking</em>—</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t fucking go there. Just don’t.</em>
</p><p>Dean shook his head again, frustrated. Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him today? He'd really thought he was getting better at this—at pushing that particular train of thought away, shoving all the ugliness, all the pain down so he wouldn’t need to look at it, so he wouldn't have to <em>feel</em> any of it.</p><p>But, well, <em>clearly</em> that wasn’t working out too well for him today.</p><p>Would this get easier with time? Dealing with the pain, the grief? Would the dark, painful hole in his chest ever stop feeling so unbearably… <em>empty?</em></p><p>Fuck, he really hoped so.</p><p>He pulled in a few deep breaths, hoping they would help steady him at least a little bit, that they would help him feel better somehow, but of course that didn’t work. Damn it, why were his hands <em>shaking? </em>They hadn’t been doing that before, or maybe Dean just hadn’t noticed it up until now.</p><p>He lowered his hand onto his hands, tugging gently at his hair and closing his eyes. The breathing exercise just wasn’t cutting it anymore, if the way his heart was still hammering against his ribcage was any indication, or the way he suddenly felt like he really, <em>really</em> needed to punch something—to <em>break</em> something, to feel it giving under his fists, crushed beyond repair. If the small mirror above his sink wasn’t already cracked, he might have had a go at it, if only to make himself feel better. And if he hurt his hands while doing it, if the sharp, uneven shards of glass nipped and cut at his skin while he did it, well, then at least the pain from that would give him something else to focus on.</p><p>A couple more minutes went by without any changes, until Dean finally found himself dropping his hands and shaking his head, letting out another frustrated sigh as he suddenly made a decision.</p><p>
  <em>You know what? Fuck it. I need goddamn a drink.</em>
</p><p>He was pretty sure he’d fucking earned it.</p><p>Before he could change his mind about it—or, well, before his conscience had a chance to catch up to him—Dean yanked the door to his room open and marched out into the hallway, heading off in the direction of the main area of the Men of Letters’ Bunker. He’d cleared his room of any alcohol he’d had stashed away in there, just to try to keep himself under control a little better, but right now, making the trip to the kitchen was definitely worth it, if it meant he wouldn’t need to feel like this for much longer. Apparently, he’d worked himself into a <em>mood</em> again, and he really didn’t want to deal with that for the rest of the night.</p><p>In retrospect, maybe he should have taken the long away around, because then he’d have ended up straight at the kitchen door. But he was frustrated and jittery, and he just really wanted to shove some whiskey down his throat, so he didn’t even think about it too much as took the shortcut that brought him to the door right at the back of the library, which meant that he’d have to cross both the library and war room in order to get to the kitchen.</p><p>And as soon as he got there, as soon as he stepped into the library, his steps faltered, body freezing up as he did a double take, taking a second to process the sight that greeted him there—Sam and Eileen both sitting at the table closest to the door he’d just walked through, each of them with an open laptop resting right in front of them.</p><p>Sam perked up as soon as he saw Dean, eyes growing a little wider. He looked surprised—just like he did every time Dean ventured out of his room, even if he’d definitely been doing it more often in the past couple of days.</p><p>“Dean, hey,” Sam greeted him, turning a bit in his seat so that he was halfway facing his brother. “You’re… up.”</p><p>Yeah, nice observation skills there, Sammy. Good for you.</p><p>“Yeah,” Dean replied and <em>wow, </em>okay, his voice sounded kinda terrible—raspy and croaky, like he hadn’t drunk water in days. Come to think of it, he couldn’t really remember the last time he’d had a glass of water. Maybe last night? “And you two are… doing what, exactly?” He frowned at their laptops, feeling a little wary, because the black windows and numerous lines of green text that he could see displayed on Sam’s screen were all awfully familiar to him.</p><p>Sam shrugged, turning back to his laptop so he could press a few keys, probably typing in a command or another keyword to filter whatever search he was doing. “Just, you know, keeping an eye on things.”</p><p>Dean swallowed, hesitating for a beat before he asked, “And by ‘keeping an eye on ‘things’, you mean looking for a case?” He raised a questioning eyebrow at his brother as he said that last part, and even if he tried to stop it, a small hint of surprise still bled into his voice.</p><p>Sam shrugged again—like this was oh-so-simple to him. “I mean, yeah.” He frowned, pausing so he could eye Dean for a moment—so he could look for something on his brother’s face, it looked like. His eyes were curious, but there was an obvious hint of confusion in his gaze, too. “You seem… surprised?”</p><p>Dean licked his lips, shifting his weight on his feet, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable under all that scrutiny. He <em>really</em> hated being put on the spot like this, but then again, he <em>had </em>technically put himself in this situation to begin with. But he hadn’t exactly told Sam how he felt about going back to hunting yet, and he didn’t really feel like doing it now—especially not when they had an audience.</p><p>Not that Eileen was much of an audience, and Dean knew she was well on her way to becoming part of this family if Sam didn’t somehow fuck this up royally, but… well, Dean would kind of like to have this conversation one-on-one with his brother, and he definitely didn’t feel like having it <em>now, </em>when he already felt pretty fucking awful. He’d literally come all the way here so he could get himself a nice dose of booze that he could drown all his sorrows in, so he could just not <em>think</em> about anything for the next ten hours or so, so starting up that kind of conversation with Sam right now would be pretty counterproductive to Dean’s plan.</p><p>So he shook his head, shrugging, trying to sound calm and nonchalant as he said, “No, I just… Do you really think you’re ready for that? Getting back into the game? The whole Chuck thing was like, two weeks ago.” He gave a small, halfhearted shrug, shoulders rising and falling minutely for no more than a second. “Don’t you think it’s a little too soon?”</p><p>Sam frowned at him, his features still displaying an obvious mixture of surprise and confusion. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to hear that from Dean right now—which, honestly, was pretty understandable. If he were Sam, Dean knew he would be pretty freaking surprised too.</p><p>“Why?” Sam asked. “We’re both fine, and well enough to hunt. If there are people out there who need our help—who need <em>saving, </em>I… I just don’t see why we should wait.”</p><p>Dean gestured at Eileen. “Well, I wouldn’t say you’re <em>fine, </em>exactly. Her arm’s still in a freaking <em>sling</em>, Sam.”</p><p>“Actually, he <em>tried</em> to convince me I wasn’t ready to hunt, but I shut him down pretty quickly,” Eileen pointed out. “And I’m perfectly fine to hunt, thank you. I don’t even need to wear the sling all the time anymore. My shoulder’s mostly healed by now.”</p><p>Dean winced, giving her a sheepish, apologetic look, though he still felt a wave uneasiness pouring into his gut. Okay, so apparently Sam and Eileen were <em>both </em>physically fine at this point, so technically they <em>could</em> start hunting again, but this still didn’t feel right, and Dean still had a pretty long list of reasons why he thought they should wait.</p><p>Instead of putting any of those reasons into words, however, he chose to simply nod in agreement, accepting Sam's and Eileen’s answers. He had a facade to keep up, after all. It was surprisingly hard for him to keep his voice steady as he asked, “Well, you find anything yet?”</p><p>
  <em>Please say no. Please say no.</em>
</p><p>“No,” Sam replied a small shake of his head, letting out a tiny, frustrated sigh. “Everything’s… quiet. Almost <em>too </em>quiet.”</p><p>Dean paused to think about it for a beat, then asked, “Why does that have to be a bad thing?”</p><p>Sam’s frown deepened even more. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I just…” He shrugged, shaking his head again. “I just have a bad feeling, I guess. I mean, that future Chuck showed me, the one that would’ve happened if we’d simply locked him away, with monsters rising up and basically throwing the whole world into chaos, it… well, it’s kinda hard to just forget about it, you know?”</p><p>“Yeah, but we didn’t lock him away,” Dean was quick to point out. “Sure, Chuck’s human now, but there’s still a God out there—it’s just not Chuck anymore. Amara’s not the only one left, so the Darkness isn’t… well, too strong, I guess? As long as Jack’s around, everything stays the same. Nothing’s out of balance.”</p><p>Sam nodded, but his jaw still clenched a couple times. Clearly, that answer didn’t sit well with him. “Still, I don’t trust this calm.”</p><p>Dean sighed, feeling his shoulders sag at his sides. Fuck, he was tired. “Look, how about we just… take this small victory, alright? Don’t you think we deserve a little break, for <em>once</em> in our lives?”</p><p>This time, Dean’s words finally seemed to have the desired effect, because Sam’s features smoothed out a bit, his confusion fading into something very close to acceptance. His shoulders sagged as he let out a breath, and he nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Just… force of habit, I guess.”</p><p>Just as he said it, though, Sam turned back around in his chair so that he was facing his laptop again, resting his hands right back onto the keyboard, wasting no time to start typing again.</p><p>Dean met Eileen’s eyes for a second—just long enough for him to realize that she was staring at him just a bit too attentively, like she was trying to read him somehow, trying to find something on his face. Her eyes seemed way too sharp as they danced over his face, so Dean had no choice but to tear his gaze away, raising a hand so he could scratch at the back of his neck, once again feeling pretty freaking uncomfortable.</p><p>He scurried out of the library soon after that and without uttering out even another word, marching away before either of them could say anything else, hastily crossing the library and war room without a single glance behind, then striding into the kitchen like a man on a mission—which, well, wasn’t too far from the truth, if you really thought about it.</p><p>With the way Dean had been steadily working his way through their alcohol stash over the past couple of weeks, their liquor cabinet was getting dangerously empty, with only two bottles of whiskey left. Sure, their fridge was still fully stocked with beer, but that just wasn't the kind of stuff Dean was craving right now. They were definitely due for a booze run. Dean should get right on that.</p><p>Tomorrow. Maybe.</p><p>He just didn’t want to make any promises. He might end up just getting Sam to do it for him, really. Come to think of it, that sounded like a pretty solid plan, and a much better option.</p><p>Yeah, Dean was probably gonna go with that one.</p><p>He grabbed one of the two remaining bottles of Jack and a glass, then hurried to make himself scarce before either Sam or Eileen could follow him into the kitchen and try to talk to him some more, because that would be an absolute fucking <em>tragedy</em>.</p><p>This time, though, he was actually smart about it and took the long way back to his room, circling around so that he didn’t actually need to go through the library and deal with those two again—well, mostly with Sam, but if he’d stuck around for long enough Eileen was just bound to say something eventually, especially considering that look she was giving him at the end there, and Dean really didn’t want to find out what that might’ve turned out to be. He just didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, not even his brother. Was that really so bad? He was just in a fucking <em>mood</em>.</p><p>But, well, what else is new?</p><p>Dean let out a big, relieved breath as soon as he was back in the safety of his room and the door was locked behind him, then proceeded to open his drink. He tipped the top of the bottle into his glass, but thought better of it at the last second and decided to just forgo the glass entirely. What was even the point of using a glass? He would probably end up drinking the whole fucking bottle anyway. He certainly didn’t feel like <em>sharing</em> right now.</p><p>So he elected to ditch the glass on his desk and raised the bottle up to his mouth, taking a big, long gulp from it. He winced as he swallowed the whiskey down, hissing at the burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat, but he didn’t even wait for the heat to settle in his belly before he took another swig.</p><p>That night marked the first time Dean drank himself to sleep in five days, and although he wasn’t exactly proud of it, he just couldn’t find it in himself to care.</p><p>Because again, what was even the fucking <em>point?</em></p><p>
  <strong>*~*~*~*~*</strong>
</p><p>As it turned out, Sam had been right—the calm didn’t last for long, and only two days after they’d had that awkward, tense conversation in the library, a knock sounded from outside Dean’s door.</p><p>He jumped a little at the sound, but didn’t even bother raising his hand to pause the episode of Cupcake Wars he’d <em>just</em> started to watch.</p><p>“Yeah?” he asked, and <em>wow</em>, look at that, his voice was <em>still</em> all kinds of croaky and fucked up. Great. Maybe he should start using it more, he thought.</p><p>Nah. Definitely not worth the fucking effort.</p><p>“Hey, Dean, I gotta talk to you,” Sam’s voice echoed from the other side of the door, sounding just a bit muffled through the wood. “Can I come in?”</p><p>Dean pulled in a breath, trying to steady himself. He had no idea what Sam could possibly want to talk to him about, and that made him a little nervous. His brother’s tone implied it might be something serious, and Dean really didn’t like that. They literally hadn’t exchanged a single word in the last two days, because after that whole thing back at the library, Dean had obviously gone right back to just holing up in his room until he had no other choice but to come out of there, normally in search of food or to use the bathroom. But the last conversation they’d had had been about how Sam and Eileen were apparently keeping an eye out for any possibly-monster-related deaths, so Dean wasn’t exactly confident about whatever Sam wanted to talk to him about now. As a matter of fact, he had a very bad feeling about it.</p><p>Still, he knew he didn’t exactly have a choice here, so he let out a small, unhappy sigh, before calling out, “Yeah, come in.”</p><p>The door was pushed open slowly, and light poured into the room through the gap it produced. Sam’s head came into view next as he peeked into the room, taking in the state of—well, everything. He hadn’t been in here yet—not after the whole thing with Chuck—so Dean really shouldn’t be surprised by the unhappy, displeased frown that formed in his brother’s brows as soon as he took in the current state of his brother’s room.</p><p>“Uh… when was the last time you cleaned up in here?” he asked, pursing his lips and wrinkling his nose.</p><p>Dean glanced around, taking in the few items of clothing scattered around the room, the handful of empty bottles and dirty glasses, a few greasy plates. Sure, okay, Dean <em>was</em> a bit of a neat freak—or at least a cleaning freak, anyway. He could admit that, so this <em>should</em> be worrying to anyone who knew him well enough, but this really wasn’t <em>that</em> bad. And over the past few days, he <em>had</em> been making an effort to tidy things up a bit in here, cleaning after himself most of the time, so this really wasn’t as bad as it could get.</p><p>Sam should have seen what Dean’s room had looked like a week ago. He might have actually had a freaking stroke or something.</p><p>Dean shrugged, turning back to the TV. “Dunno.”</p><p>He didn’t actually <em>see</em> Sam’s reaction, but he definitely heard the small, frustrated sigh that his brother let out, because of course he did. Sam could be one annoying, grumpy little bitch sometimes.</p><p>Dean held himself back from rolling his eyes.</p><p>“Did you actually want something, or…?” he pressed when the silence stretched on for a bit too long, chancing another glance over at Sam.</p><p>And the look he found in his brother’s eyes when he did was, well… let’s just say that it made Dean feel even more uneasy than he’d already felt when Sam had first knocked on his door and asked to come in.</p><p>Overall, Sam looked… tense, and pretty freaking uncomfortable. His gaze was wary, careful as he studied Dean, like there was something on his mind, but he wasn’t sure how exactly he should say it, how he could put it into words.</p><p>Until finally, he blurted out, “We found a case.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>Dean’s eyebrows shot up, even if he wasn’t exactly surprised to hear that. Again, those two <em>had</em> been keeping an eye on things, so they were definitely bound to stumble upon a case eventually, and Dean had been very well aware of that.</p><p>But, well, he’d just hoped it wouldn’t happen so <em>soon</em>. He’d very much like to postpone this particular conversation for as long as he possibly could, thank you very much.</p><p>Apparently, though, two weeks of peace was all Dean was allowed to have.</p><p>“Yeah?” Dean asked, focusing his eyes back on the TV, still not bothering to pause his show. “Well, you guys have fun—or, well, you know, maybe not <em>too</em> much fun.”</p><p>Another frustrated sigh filled the air—this one louder, more obvious. “Dean.”</p><p>
  <em>“What?”</em>
</p><p>“Can you look at me? Please?”</p><p>With a frustrated sigh of his own, Dean raised his hand and pointed his remote at the TV, finally pausing his show and turning his head again so that he could focus his gaze on his brother—who still had that weird, unsettling look in his eyes, by the way. Seriously, what the fuck was up with that?</p><p>“Okay, I’m looking,” he said. “Not seeing anything particularly impressive, though. Now I’m just wondering when you’re gonna cut that ridiculous mane of yours. It’s almost touching your <em>shoulders, </em>man. Like, what the hell?”</p><p>Sam rolled his eyes so hard that it really was a wonder how they didn’t just roll right out of their sockets.</p><p>“Dean, I’m being serious here,” Sam insisted, a hint of annoyance obvious in his voice. “You’re not coming with us?”</p><p>Ah, there it was.</p><p>Damn it. How the hell was he even supposed to do this?</p><p>Dean shook his head, offering a small, weak shrug. “No, I… I’m not.”</p><p>And there it was—the surprise, the disbelief written all over Sam’s face, like Dean had just sprouted a second head right in front of his eyes or something.</p><p>“What?” Sam asked, and he both looked <em>and </em>sounded legitimately confused.</p><p>Dean shrugged again. “I’m not going, Sammy. I’m just… not feeling it, I guess.”</p><p>“Not <em>feeling</em> it?” Sam frowned, a deep crease forming in the space between his brows. “Dean, what the hell?”</p><p>Fuck, Dean didn’t want to deal with this. He really, <em>really</em> wished he didn’t have to, but when the <em>fuck</em> has he ever gotten what he wanted?</p><p>Never—that’s when. His current situation was only proof of that.</p><p>“I just don’t wanna go,” Dean replied. “Honestly, I… I think I want a break—from hunting, I mean. I don’t really want to just... jump back into it right now.” <em>If at all</em>, he added in his mind, but chose not to say that last part out loud. No, he was keeping <em>that</em> one to himself for now.</p><p>And truth be told, even if he wasn’t being <em>completely </em>honest with Sam right now, he was still pretty proud of how easily those words slid off his tongue. They sounded like the first truly genuine thing he’d said in weeks, and as soon as they were out in the open, Dean felt some of the weight he’d been carrying around inside his chest for the past three weeks grow just a tad bit lighter.</p><p>Sam, on the other hand, didn’t look particularly impressed by them.</p><p>He didn’t say anything right away, though—no, instead, he grew silent—unnervingly so, the same way he did whenever he was thinking too hard about something. That weirdly focused look in his eyes grew even more intense, like he was trying to read Dean’s mind somehow, which honestly made Dean a little uncomfortable.</p><p>Finally, after that tense, uncomfortable pause had already stretched on for a good twenty seconds too long, Sam sighed, looking like he’d just lost some sort of internal battle—or maybe he just didn’t find whatever he’d been so desperately looking for on his brother’s face.</p><p>Either way, whatever the reason for that abrupt change truly was, the next thing that came out of Sam’s mouth was pretty freaking unexpected, and it caught Dean completely off guard.</p><p>“Is this about Cas?”</p><p>Had Dean been drinking something in that moment, he was sure he would’ve spit it all over his freaking bed, but it seemed he had a tiny smidge of luck on his side tonight, because as it turned out, he <em>wasn’t</em> drinking anything when Sam sprung that question on him. However, he <em>did</em> pull in a startled breath a little too quickly as soon as those words were out of his brother’s mouth, and <em>of course</em> he ended up choking on his own freaking saliva, because <em>that’s</em> always so much fun.</p><p>For fuck’s sake.</p><p>So naturally, during the next couple of minutes, Dean spent some quality time trying to expel a lung through his freaking mouth while Sam just kind of hovered there awkwardly, standing a few steps away from Dean’s bed, looking like he just had no idea what the hell to do with himself.</p><p>It took a while, but eventually Dean’s coughing fit finally subsided, and when he was finally able to speak again, he let out an incredulous, “Where the hell did <em>that</em> come from?”</p><p>The look he found in Sam’s eyes was hard to read—it was still focused, still way too sharp for Dean’s liking, but now there was something… softer in there too, lingering just underneath the surface. It looked an awful lot like sadness—or even worse, <em>pity.</em></p><p>Dean kinda hated it.</p><p>“You’ve got that look,” Sam answered after a beat, his voice lower than it’d been before, more careful. It sounded like he was being extra cautious with his words. “The one you always get when Cas… well, you know. Like you’re… lost, I guess? I don’t know how to explain it, but whatever it is… it’s there. I’ve seen it before.”</p><p>Okay, could they stop talking about this now? Dean really didn’t want to think about the fact that apparently, he had a fucking <em>look </em>that he got whenever he lost Cas—or the fact that he’d been doing such a poor job of hiding his internal turmoil that apparently, Sam knew <em>exactly</em> what was going on here.</p><p>Well, not <em>exactly</em>, but he was pretty damn close, and that was already too much.</p><p>Dean shook his head—slowly, carefully, because that was honestly all that he could manage right now. Normally, he would have given Sam a sharp, annoyed retort, or even tried to deflect, to focus on something else—<em>anything</em> else, but he was just so, <em>so </em>tired. “Can we just… not talk about that? Please?” His voice came out low, weak—pitiful, really, but for some reason, he just…</p><p>He just couldn’t find it in himself to <em>care</em>.</p><p>Maybe it was the fact that Dean’s response was definitely not what Sam had been expecting to hear from him right now, or maybe it was the utterly defeated tone that coated his brother’s words, along with the heavy, tired drooping of his shoulders, like he was still carrying the weight of the entire world on them. Either way, Sam looked pretty lost on what to say at first, opening and closing his mouth a couple times, but not actually letting out a single sound.</p><p>Until finally, he nodded. “Okay,” he said, voice coming out croaky and weird, matching Dean’s. “Okay, I’ll… I’ll just work this hunt with Eileen then, just the two of us. And then maybe on the next one, you could come along. If you… well, if you’re ‘feeling’ it by then.”</p><p>The words were there, just hanging from the tip of his tongue, practically <em>begging</em> to be let out.</p><p><em>I’m not sure if there’s gonna be another hunt for me, Sammy. I don’t know if I’m gonna do that anymore. I don’t know if I <strong>want</strong></em> <em>to do that anymore.</em></p><p>It should’ve been easy to say them, to just let those words out right then and there—just blurt them all out in one breath, quick and without a thought, before he could change his mind. Like ripping off a band-aid.</p><p>But it <em>wasn’t</em> that easy. The words stuck to the walls of his throat, refusing to leave his mouth, failing to slip past his unusually dry lips and dying on his tongue before Dean could even find his voice to let them out.</p><p>So instead of saying what he really wanted to say right then, Dean simply swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded—weak, uncertain. “Yeah, maybe.” There wasn’t a single drop of confidence in his voice, and Dean was sure his brother wouldn’t miss that, and that he definitely wouldn’t just let it slide.</p><p>But much to Dean’s surprise, he actually did.</p><p>Granted, Sam didn’t seem entirely satisfied with that answer—in fact, it really looked like he wanted to say something else for a second there, but in the end, he simply pressed his lips together and clenched his jaw a couple times, before he finally gave his brother a slow, tight nod, accepting Dean’s answer without trying to probe any further, without trying to argue any more or to change his mind about this.</p><p>Dean’s mood took a serious nosedive after Sam left to pack up and get ready to leave in the morning. He didn’t feel like watching his show anymore, and instead simply turned off the TV and rolled over on his bed, burying himself under the covers in a futile effort to try and shut himself off from the rest of the world.</p><p>It took an honestly impressive amount of willpower for him to <em>not </em>to get up from that bed and fetch the half-drunk bottle of whiskey that was currently resting on his desk, but somehow, he managed to hold himself back from actually doing it. He shouldn’t drink tonight, because that would make this the <em>third</em> night in a row that he’d drunk himself to sleep, and he definitely shouldn’t allow that to happen.</p><p>And even though he must’ve gotten about an hour of sleep that night and he felt like absolute <em>shit</em> the next morning, at least he got through it sober, and that was already something, wasn’t it?</p><p>He chose to believe it was.</p><p>
  <strong>*~*~*~*~*</strong>
</p><p>Being alone in the Bunker was… well, lonely.</p><p>And the funny thing about that was—he and Sam hadn’t been interacting all that much lately, and he honestly didn’t see much of Eileen either, so most days, it already felt like Dean was all alone in this place, with how much time he spent sulking by himself, doing his best to shut himself off from the rest of the world so he could just wallow in his own grief-laden, self-loathing thoughts.</p><p>Also, he had Miracle to keep him company, so if you wanted to get technical about it, it wasn’t like he was <em>truly</em> alone.</p><p>And yet, the silence that hung inside the Bunker now, that permeated every single inch of that place seemed eerily heavy, almost suffocating. The hallways felt emptier, albeit narrower, and being in the library or the war room had a weird, uncomfortable feeling settling in Dean’s gut, like the walls were slowly caving in on him, threatening to swallow him whole if he stayed in there for too long, if he gave them a chance.</p><p>During the couple brief trips he’d made to the kitchen to feed himself throughout the day, the usually quiet hum of the fridge that filled the air whenever the compressors kicked to life seemed way too loud, and it actually startled him a couple times, making him jump like a scared, skittish wild animal, which was just absolutely fucking ridiculous, and he really didn’t want to talk about it, thank you very much.</p><p>And although it might sound weird and not make much sense, the worst part of being completely alone in the Bunker was that he didn’t feel the need to hole up in his room all day, to just hide away from the rest of the world, because now he could wander around freely, without the worry of running into either Sam or Eileen and having to actually <em>talk</em> to them.</p><p>And because of that newfound freedom, because this was the first time he found himself able to do whatever he wanted or <em>go </em>wherever he wanted in the Bunker without the fear of having an endless string of worried questions being thrown his way, maybe it shouldn’t have been such a surprise to him that on the first night he had the Bunker all to himself, just about twelve hours after Sam and Eileen left to work that hunt in Ohio, Dean found himself stumbling into the <em>one</em> room he’d thought he’d never be able to set foot in again.</p><p>Granted, he <em>had</em> just downed about four fingers from his ever-present bottle of Jack, so that was probably what gave him the courage he needed to actually do it. But still, he was pretty freaking surprised with himself when he realized that he was actually <em>there, </em>standing right in the middle of that room, just outside the Devil’s Trap painted on the bare, cement floor, surrounded by the familiar shelves that made up the Men of Letters’ storage area.</p><p>The sigil was still there, painted on the back of the door. The blood was dry, of course, considering it’d already been there for over three weeks now, so it looked much darker than it’d been when the symbol had originally been marked onto the wood, but it was still very much visible.</p><p>
  <em>Cas’ blood.</em>
</p><p>That was all Dean had left of him—the blood covering that door, and the one that’d seeped into the fabric of his jacket, making up a bloody handprint—a mark heartbreakingly similar to the one Cas had left branded on Dean’s skin when he’d pulled the hunter out of Hell all those years ago—and it was on the <em>same</em> freaking shoulder, too, because fate was just fucking <em>hilarious</em> like that.</p><p>The jacket was hidden away in the back of his closet, and the stain was still there, because Dean hadn’t yet found it in him to try to wash it off. To be perfectly honest, he didn’t think he ever would—even if just <em>looking </em>at it was already enough to have him feeling nauseous all over again, to have his stomach cramping up painfully and making him feel like he might throw up. He actually did once—but, well, he <em>had</em> been dealing with a pretty nasty hangover at the time, so maybe that’s what really tipped him over the edge.</p><p>With an unsteady, trembling hand, Dean raised his bottle up to his lips, swallowing a big, generous gulp from it. The weight inside his chest seemed a thousand times heavier now, the air inside that room stale and far too thin as he pulled it into his lungs.</p><p>“You stupid son of a bitch,” he muttered to no one in particular, because Cas sure as hell couldn’t hear him. That thought left a sour taste in his mouth, causing a sharp, painful twinge in his chest, like a knife stabbing into his heart. He felt like there was a block of lead sitting in his gut, constantly weighing him down. “Why the <em>fuck</em> did you make that stupid fucking deal? And why didn’t <em>tell</em> me about it? We could’ve found a way to break it, Cas. We could have <em>fucking</em>—”</p><p>He squeezed his eyes shut when his voice broke, pulling in another big, shaky breath. His head was suddenly spinning, like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen into his lungs. He winced, then shook his head when he realized his eyes were burning, stinging as they slowly filled up. He squeezed them shut, trying to hold back the tears, before taking another generous swig of his whiskey.</p><p>When the burning in his eyes only grew worse, he pressed a hand to his closed eyelids, rubbing at them, but that wasn’t enough to stop the first tear from sliding down his left cheek.</p><p>“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he whispered into the empty room. His voice sounded wrecked, croaky and hoarse, strained by his grief, by all the pain he could feel inside of him, flooding his veins and burning everything it touched, like his blood had been replaced by hot, molten metal. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop it, that I just… that I just sat there, doing <em>nothing</em>. I didn’t even fight. I didn’t even <em>try</em> to…” His voice failed, and he choked, pulling in a few short, struggled breaths.</p><p>But he didn’t let that stop him. No, he forced himself to keep going, no matter how hard it suddenly was for him to speak, for him to let out even another word, because he <em>needed</em> to say this. Even if Cas couldn’t hear him, even if the angel would <em>never</em> get to hear this, Dean still needed to say it. He needed to get this out, before those words smothered him, before he was crushed under the weight of his guilt.</p><p>“I’m sorry I can’t save you, Cas. I tried—I really did, but I can’t… I can’t find anything. I can’t <em>do</em> anything. You died for me—no, you died <em>because</em> of me, and now you’re there, rotting away in the Empty for all eternity, and I can’t even…” He squeezed his eyes shut, pulling in another sharp, trembling breath as more tears slid from his eyes, as his lips quivered and his hand shook around the cold glass of his bottle. “I’m sorry. I’m so, <em>so </em>sorry.”</p><p>He wasn’t sure how or when it happened exactly, but a couple minutes later found him sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall, on the exact same spot where he’d landed after Cas pushed him that day, the same spot from which he'd watched that unnatural, viscous black goo slip into the room and engulf Cas completely, staking its claim, taking him away from his world.</p><p>The same spot from which he’d watched Cas die.</p><p>If he closed his eyes, he could still see it—could still see <em>Cas</em>. That memory was crystal clear, painfully vivid whenever it slipped into the forefront of his mind, whenever it replayed inside his head, be it in a dream, or during a moment of weakness, when he lost the battle against his own conscience, when he could no longer find the strength within himself to push it away and was forced to relive one of the most excruciating moments of his entire life.</p><p>And being here now, where it’d all happened—well, it truly was no wonder that the memory he’d been doing his best to avoid, to keep locked away in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind, resurfaced without a problem, meeting no resistance at all, so that it could play behind his eyelids yet another time. And it seemed so vivid, so <em>real, </em>that it might as well be happening all over again.</p><p>
  <em>Cas’ eyes, brimming with tears as he let out an endless string of words that Dean’s frantic, racing mind struggled to keep up with, singing words of praise unlike anything Dean had ever been on the receiving end of. He could hear his own heart beating in his ears, hammering frantically against his ribcage as he tried and failed to understand what exactly Cas was trying to do, what exactly he was trying to <strong>say </strong>here.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And then he’d said it. With a watery smile playing on his lips, his voice shaking with raw, undisguised emotion—more than Dean had ever seen from him before, with actual <strong>tears </strong>filling up his eyes and sliding down his cheeks—he’d let out the three words that Dean had never thought he would hear from him—well, no, he <strong>had</strong> heard them from him before, but not in the way Cas meant them in that moment.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I love you.”</em>
</p><p><em>And Dean hadn’t been able to say anything. He could barely even believe that was actually <strong>happening, </strong>could barely even wrap his head around what he was hearing, and before he’d had a chance to respond, to do anything, to <strong>say</strong></em> <em>anything, Cas was pushing him out of the way and the Empty was slithering its way into the room, literally emerging from a freaking brick wall and crossing the room, reaching out toward Cas, blanketing itself over him, pretty much <strong>absorbing </strong>him.</em></p><p>
  <em>And then he was gone, just like that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was <strong>gone, </strong>and Dean didn’t even get a chance to—</em>
</p><p>“No,” Dean whispered, head in his hands as he pleaded with himself, as he struggled to gather up every single ounce of self-control he still had in him. “Don’t go there. Don’t go there. Just don’t. Please. <em>Please.”</em></p><p>The memory faded from his vision, but even after it was gone, it still left him feeling hollow, scrubbed raw, like his insides had been carved out and all that was left behind was an empty, useless shell.</p><p>He didn’t try to stop the tears that came after that, or the loud, ugly sobs that kept bubbling up his throat and tearing out of his mouth, one right after the other, rocking his entire body. He didn’t try to calm his breathing, or the by-now-uncontrollable shaking of his hands. His heart was racing, so loud and frantic that he could actually hear it pounding in his ears, completely deafening him to the rest of the world, but he made no effort to try to fix that, to calm himself down before he had a freaking a heart attack or something.</p><p>He didn’t try to fight any of it.</p><p>Instead, for the first time since that particularly awful day, Dean finally gave in to the pain, to the <em>memories.</em> He actually let the grief overcome him, let it drape itself over him and engulf him completely, much like the Empty had done with Cas, right before Dean’s very eyes. He let his guilt grow, let it flood him completely, swallowing him whole.</p><p>The dam broke, and he did absolutely nothing to stop it.</p><p>He finally let himself break down.</p><p>
  <strong>*~*~*~*~*</strong>
</p><p>The next morning, Dean woke up to the sound of his phone ringing.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep for, but judging by the fact that he still felt a bit drunk and didn’t seem to have much of a headache yet, he could only assume that it hadn’t been long. He’d finished off his bottle of Jack last night, after spending literal <em>hours</em> back in the Bunker’s dungeon, just sitting on the floor, slowly draining his bottle and crying himself hoarse. He was sure it must have been well past midnight by the time he finally found it in himself to lift his tired, aching body up from that floor, and judging by the way he’d swayed unsteadily on his own feet, or how the room had actually been spinning around him the moment he found himself upright again, it truly was a wonder that he’d managed to stumble his way through the Bunker, walking all the way to his room without any incidents.</p><p>But he did manage it in the end, and as soon as he found himself back in his room, he’d proceeded to face-plant onto his bed so he could promptly pass out for the night.</p><p>And now he was here, groaning unhappily and raising a hand to rub at his face, trying to get his groggy mind to work well enough for him to pick up his phone from the nightstand and see who the fuck was calling him at a time like this.</p><p>A sliver of awareness slipped into his mind as soon as he saw Sam’s name flashing back at him from the screen, though. Sam was out on a hunt, so the fact that he was calling Dean this early in the day was… worrying, to say the least.</p><p>Dean felt a wave of dread pooling into his gut as he slid his thumb over the screen to answer the call. He barely even had the phone pressed against his ear when he let out a worried, “Sammy?”</p><p>But when he finally spoke, his brother didn’t sound breathless, or scared. He didn’t sound like something had gone wrong during the hunt, or like either he or Eileen might be in danger.</p><p>No, instead, his brother’s voice sounded… careful, tentative as replied, <em>“Hey, Dean. Uh… sorry if I woke you up.”</em></p><p>Oh, okay, so this <em>wasn't</em> an emergency, then.</p><p>Dean frowned, wincing as he carefully lifted his body from the mattress, ignoring all the vehement, desperate complaints he was getting from pretty much every single muscle in his body as he forced himself to sit up. He squinted his eyes as he pulled his phone away from his ear and glanced down at it to check the time.</p><p>7:53AM.</p><p>Oh, what a fucking <em>joy.</em></p><p>Still, as annoyed as Dean may be about being so rudely woken up—and at such an <em>unholy</em> hour, too—he knew Sam wouldn’t have called without a reason, so he held himself back from letting out a curse, or any sort of complaint whatsoever.</p><p>Instead, he let out a low, hoarse, “Nah, it’s… it’s fine.”</p><p>Movement caught his attention as soon as the last word was out of his mouth, and Dean barely had any time to react before a blurry mass of white fur flew up from the floor and came running across the bed, throwing itself at him without a second of hesitation.</p><p>Dean let out a tiny laugh, raising his free hand so he could run it through the dog’s fur, before wrapping an arm around him, smiling as the overly-excited puppy squirmed in his hold, tilting his head back so that he could enthusiastically lick at the hunter’s neck—his preferred method of greeting.</p><p>“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” Dean added, his tone suddenly much lighter, carrying an obvious hint of amusement. He felt completely alert by then, although he was <em>not</em> pleased by the dull ache that seemed to be quickly blooming into existence right behind his eyes—a hangover settling in, no doubt. “You woke up Miracle, you <em>heathen.”</em></p><p>A small, huffed-out laugh sounded from the other end of the line, and Dean took that as a good sign. Nothing <em>too </em>bad could have happened if Sam was actually laughing.</p><p><em>“Tell him I’m sorry,” </em>Sam replied, and his tone also seemed lighter, but still a little tense. There was definitely something on his mind, and that became even more obvious when the next thing Sam did was clear his throat. When he spoke again, his tone had gone back to sounding… off, too careful. <em>“Dean, I… I have to ask you something.”</em></p><p>Dean definitely didn't appreciate how vague those words sounded, how ominous. He felt a spark of uneasiness coming to life in his gut, and he licked his dry lips, mentally bracing himself for whatever he would be hearing next.</p><p>Having Miracle there with him, being all cute and cuddly in his arms, helped a little, at least.</p><p>“Okay,” he answered, letting the word out slowly, cautiously. “What is it?”</p><p>The way Sam actually hesitated to answer only made Dean feel even more anxious, the silence that took over the call during the next few seconds sounding awfully heavy, but all Dean could do was wait for his brother to provide him with an explanation, swallowing drily and hugging Miracle a little closer to his chest when he felt that pause had already stretched on for too long.</p><p>Finally, Sam let out a loud sigh, like he’d just accepted the fact that he had no other choice but to say whatever was on his mind, even if he was clearly not happy about it.</p><p>
  <em>“I just… Well, I guess I need to get your opinion on something, really.”</em>
</p><p>Okay, that… that didn’t seem too bad. Why did Sam sound so nervous about this, if he just wanted Dean’s freaking opinion?</p><p>“Okay,” Dean repeated. “Why are you talking like you’re about to ask me to dye my hair pink or something?”</p><p>Sam didn’t sound amused by that. In fact, he had no reaction to Dean’s question, or his joke, and instead of answering or displaying even the smallest hint of amusement, he elected to completely ignore it.</p><p><em>“I’m sending you a picture, okay?” </em>he said instead, voice sounding awfully serious, his words a little rushed, like he just couldn’t wait to get this over with. <em>“Just give it a look and tell me what you think, alright?”</em></p><p>Okay, that sounded easy enough.</p><p>Dean pulled his phone away from his ear again, pressing the button to put the call on speaker and keeping the phone a safe distance away from Miracle’s curious, vigorously-sniffing nose as he waited for the picture to come in. When it did, he pressed his thumb to the icon so that the picture would be displayed on full screen.</p><p>A heavy frown formed in his brows the moment he looked down at it. Suddenly, he understood exactly why Sam had called him.</p><p><em>“Did you get it?” </em>Sam asked after a beat.</p><p>“Yeah,” Dean answered, eyes still completely focused on the image currently being displayed on the screen of his phone. “Where did you get this?”</p><p><em>“Police report,” </em>Sam answered. <em>“The case I’m working? In Akron? There was a break-in. Four people were in the house at the time, a family of four—dad, mom and two kids. The dad was killed, and they took the kids, but they let the mother live—only… well, they ripped out her tongue. She drew this, when they asked her who did it.”</em></p><p>Dean’s mind was racing, pieces quickly falling into place in his mind as a memory resurfaced—one from about thirty years ago, and that he definitely hadn’t thought about in a long, long time.</p><p>“The guy who got killed, was he drained?” he asked.</p><p><em>“Completely, yeah,”</em> was Sam’s answer. <em>“No blood left in the body.”</em></p><p>Damn it.</p><p>God fucking <em>damn it.</em></p><p><em>“That sound familiar to you too?” </em>Sam pressed after a pause.</p><p>Dean let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his hair, mind suddenly racing as he struggled with his own thoughts, because he knew exactly what this meant<em>.</em></p><p>He knew, and he kinda hated it—or, well, he hated that apparently, no matter how much he <em>didn’t</em> want to do this, he just wouldn’t be getting a choice here, after all.</p><p>But no matter how unhappy he may be about this, he still nodded—to no one in particular, really, since Miracle was the only one there with him, and Sam couldn’t actually <em>see </em>him.</p><p>“Yeah, it does.”</p><p>
  <strong>*~*~*~*~*</strong>
</p><p>Dean only made it to Akron early the next day, because he’d still been a little drunk and awfully hangover after talking to Sam on the phone, so he’d shoved some coffee down his throat, cooked himself an extra greasy breakfast, and waited until he felt human again before he’d dared to slip behind the wheel of the Impala. And, well, he’d also had to drive a thousand freaking miles to get from Lebanon to Akron, Ohio, so that also took him a while. That drive should normally take about fifteen hours, but Dean made it in just a little over twelve.</p><p>Fortunately, there hadn’t been any more killings during that time, so the first thing Dean, Sam and Eileen did when he finally got to Akron was sit down with John’s journal so they could try to figure this whole thing out. Dean had already found the page they needed, and he’d had it marked, so the three of them had only needed a couple minutes to figure out that yes, they were definitely dealing with the same monsters John had run into thirty years ago. However, their Dad hadn’t actually <em>caught</em> said monsters—actually, he hadn’t even figured out what exactly he’d been dealing with at the time—which meant that this was their chance to wrap up what was clearly an unfinished hunt of their old man’s, and that was exactly the reason why Dean was even here. Sure, there had been a brief moment of hesitation on his part while he’d been talking to Sam on the phone about the hunt, but in the end, he’d offered to meet up with Sam and Eileen to help out with this case. Sam hadn’t even needed to ask.</p><p>Their Dad hadn’t been able to finish this job back in the day, so now, the responsibility to do it fell onto their shoulders. They couldn’t just walk away from it, even if Dean didn’t <em>actually </em>want to do this. He just… well, he didn’t exactly have a choice on this one.</p><p>From that point on, it was easy to figure out where the monsters—Sam and Eileen’s guess was that they were dealing with vampires, but Dean was still pretty set on them being vamp-<em>mimes</em>, because that sounded absolutely freaking <em>hilarious—</em>would strike next. If they were following the same pattern from thirty years ago, then the next town the vamp-mimes should hit was Canton, which was less than thirty minutes away. They usually chose pretty isolated houses, where they could go unnoticed more easily, and only places that had at least two kids that they could kidnap after killing the parents, sometimes leaving one poor, tongueless victim alive. They made a quick research on the area, and found that there was only one house in Canton that actually fit that description, so they knew exactly where the vamp-mimes would probably hit tonight—<em>if </em>they’d hit tonight, that was, but considering the kidnappings had happened every couple of days back when John had first dealt with this case, Dean felt it was a pretty safe guess that they would.</p><p>And once <em>that</em> was figured out, Dean was ready to go, to just get in his car and drive to Canton, maybe check out the next target to kill some time. They could stake the house out a little to get familiar with the area, and with the people who were most likely the next targets. It certainly couldn’t hurt.</p><p>Sam, however, had a completely different idea of what they should be doing next, because the moment they were done with the vamp-mimes discussion, the first thing he did was try to convince Dean to go to a freaking <em>pie</em> festival, of all fucking things.</p><p>Now, Dean knew that at any other time, under <em>normal </em>circumstances, he’d be all over something like a freaking <em>pie</em> festival—seriously, that might very well be Dean’s own definition of <em>Heaven. </em>At any other time, Dean would literally be carrying around the biggest freaking box he could find in that place, picking up as many plates as he could carry, so he could proceed to stuff his face with pie until he felt so full that he might throw up. Actually, maybe he <em>would</em> throw up, and then he’d stuff his face with even more pie to fill up the space he'd just freed up in his stomach.</p><p>But right now, being around that many people, all of them smiling and laughing and having fun, eating more pie than they could actually stomach, with kids running around and playing, with confetti flying through the air, with colorful banners and balloons and loud, cheery music playing in the background, it just… fuck, he really didn’t think he could do it, not even for pie.</p><p>And anyway, they had a case to solve, people to save. They weren’t on a fucking vacation, and they couldn’t just take a day off to stuff themselves full of pie when there were people dying out there, or when there were <em>kids</em> being kidnapped. They had work to do here.</p><p>When he’d told his brother as much, however, Sam had insisted, arguing that Dean couldn’t just stay holed up in his room forever, that he couldn’t hide away in the Bunker for the rest of his life, just… drinking and sleeping his days away, pretending that the rest of the world simply didn’t exist.</p><p>And anyway, if they really were right about this case, then all the kidnappings and killings should only happen at night, so they still had at least ten hours before they had to be in Canton.</p><p>Those were all very good points, Dean was willing to admit that, and Sam’s words about how he needed to come out of his shell a little, how it was about time he started pushing himself a bit really hit a nerve, but he’d still tried to put up a fight, because he didn’t actually <em>want</em> to go. He didn’t want to paste a tight, empty smile on his face so he could try to at least <em>look </em>like he was having fun, like he was getting better, just so his brother would stop bothering him, so he would stop with all the hovering and the coddling, with all the smothering and the endless, incessant worrying.</p><p>But of course, because when Sam set his mind to something, he just didn’t accept no for an answer, Dean lost the fight in the end, and he had no other choice but to relent.</p><p>Apparently, they were going to a freaking pie festival.</p><p>But, well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad—or at least that’s what Dean kept telling himself. Sam and Eileen would be there with him, for starters, so it wasn’t like he’d need to deal with it alone. And anyway, this was exactly what he’d said he’d do, wasn’t it? Try to push himself out of his comfort zone? To try to actually <em>live?</em></p><p>Maybe this would be a step toward that, Dean thought. Maybe he should start by trying something small, not by trying something new. Doing something that used to make him happy, before all this; something that might bring out a piece of himself that’d been buried far too deep in his sorrows, that hadn’t actually seen the light of day in… well, <em>months, </em>really. Maybe that might actually help him <em>heal, </em>somehow.</p><p>Honestly, he wasn’t feeling very confident about it, but it was worth a short, anyway.</p><p>And that’s how Dean ended up here.</p><p>“Is that really all you’re having?”</p><p>Dean raised his head quickly, startled. He really hadn’t noticed Sam coming over here, but then again, he <em>was</em> finding it pretty hard to focus on everything that was happening around him. It was just easier to try to ignore it, to block out the constant buzz from all the people around him, or else he might start feeling overwhelmed, and he really didn’t want to deal with that right now.</p><p>He’d been right earlier, when he’d predicted that this festival would be <em>loud, </em>and filled with way too many people, all crammed into the small town square. They’d placed a few tables around the place, but it was impossible to find an empty seat in those, so most people simply chose to stand around, or stick to the benches near the buildings and over in the small grass area off to the side. Some people were even just sitting on the grass, basking in the sun as they enjoyed their pie, taking full advantage of such a clear, cloudless day, having the time of their freaking lives.</p><p>Dean, on the other hand, was perfectly happy to sit by himself on a bench by the front of a building, away from the thick of the festivities. He’d thought having Sam and Eileen here with him would help, but as it turned out, it’d done the completely opposite, and eventually he got tired of the expectant, concerned glances the two kept throwing his way. He’d sneaked off by himself the first chance he got and parked himself on that bench, trying to enjoy some calm, alone time, without a coddling younger brother and his equally concerned girlfriend watching his every move like a couple of freaking hawks. He’d been watching the festival’s attendees for a while now, just… observing all those people, thinking how each and every one of them wouldn’t even be here, how they could have been gone forever, if things hadn’t turned out the way they had.</p><p>Three weeks ago, this place had been completely silent, deserted, not a single sign of life in sight. Chuck hadn’t spared even the animals, even the smallest of insects.</p><p>But now, that square was brimming with life.</p><p>And all those people didn’t even <em>know. </em>They all seemed so happy, so weightless. They’d never carried the burden of saving the world on their shoulders. Some of them might never even have dealt with death before, with loss. They were just… happily oblivious.</p><p>Dean envied them, in a way.</p><p>“Dean?”</p><p>Dean blinked, glancing up at his brother a second time.</p><p>Right. Sam had asked him a question.</p><p>He glanced down at his lap, taking in the half-eaten slice of pie he’d been nibbling on for the better part of an hour, just sitting on a small, plastic plate he’d been carefully balancing on top of his thighs. His matching plastic fork was gripped loosely in his hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d moved it.</p><p>“Yeah,” he replied, stabbing the pie slice weakly with his fork, not putting nearly enough force in the movement to actually break off a piece of it. “I’m just… taking my time with it.”</p><p>“You don’t take your time with pie, Dean,” Sam replied. He lowered himself onto the bench, claiming the seat right beside Dean. “I mean, normal people do. <em>You </em>don’t.”</p><p>Well, he certainly had a point there.</p><p>With a sigh, Dean stabbed his fork into his pie with a bit more force this time, successfully breaking off a small piece of it. He gathered it up with his fork and lifted it, carefully placing the small bite of food into his mouth. And once <em>that</em> was done, he turned to look at his brother again, not even bothering to swallow or chew before he questioned, “’appy now?”</p><p>The fact that Sam had absolutely no reaction to Dean talking with his mouth full—no disgusted pursing of lips, no annoyed glares—was… worrying, to say the least. It meant there was something else on his brother’s mind, something that Sam was too focused on, too <em>concerned</em> about to worry about something like calling Dean out for his poor, nonexistent table manners.</p><p>And that became even more obvious when Sam’s immediate response was to simply <em>look</em> at Dean. His eyes suddenly had that… intense, sad look shining in them, the one that was so unsettling, it made Dean want to shift uncomfortably in his seat—which he <em>didn’t </em>do, by the way. Sam had been giving him that look a <em>lot</em> over the past couple of weeks. Dean kinda hated it.</p><p>“No,” Sam finally concluded, shaking his head. “I’m not <em>happy, </em>Dean. Not when you’re… like this.”</p><p>Oh, wow, Dean <em>so </em>did not want to have this conversation right now.</p><p>So he loaded up his fork with an even bigger bite of pie and shoveled the whole thing in his mouth, taking his sweet time chewing it, just so he would have an excuse not to provide Sam with a response right away.</p><p>He let his eyes wander again as he carefully worked through that bite, following a small group of screaming, laughing children with his gaze as they ran across the square, a tiny little yapping dog racing after them, its legs too tiny for it to really keep up, but it was still very much intent on trying.</p><p>They all seemed so light, so careless, weightless, happy in a way that only kids could manage, at an age that should bring no burdens, no worries, no pain.</p><p>Dean had never had that. He’d never been a kid—not really.</p><p>“I think about them too, you know,” Sam added after a while, keeping his voice low, careful. “Cas, and Jack. I…” A short pause, then a small, whispered, “I miss them too.”</p><p>Dean really didn’t expect to hear that, and he failed to hold back the flinch that took over his features at the sound of Cas’ name.</p><p>Was he really <em>that</em> fucking obvious?</p><p>
  <em>Jesus Christ.</em>
</p><p>“Jack’s fine,” Dean argued, and damn it, why did his voice sound so awfully croaky all of a sudden?</p><p>“Yeah, but he’s… well, who knows where he is,” Sam replied. “We may never see him again.”</p><p>Dean clenched his jaw, using his fork to move his pie around on his plate. His shoulders rose and fell in a small, halfhearted shrug. “Yeah, well, that’s still better than him being dead. It’s better than the first plan we had.” If they’d actually followed through with that one, if they’d simply let Jack go full-supernova and ice both Chuck and Amara, then Billie would have taken over. Jack would be dead, and Billie would have claimed the mantle of God for herself and ‘set everything in order’, ‘put everything back where it should be and reset the order of things’, which meant that all the people who'd crossed over from other worlds would be sent away, back to worlds that didn't exist anymore, and anyone who'd died and had been brought back to life at some point would be dead again. Hell, even Sam and Dean wouldn’t be alive right now, and neither would—</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t.</em>
</p><p>“Yeah, no, I get that,” Sam replied, and he either didn’t notice the way Dean’s entire body tensed up at once, seemingly without reason, or he simply chose to ignore it. “I just… it’s still not easy, just letting him go like that.”</p><p>Dean didn’t have anything to say to that, so he just nodded.</p><p>Laughter filled the air without a warning—loud and rambunctious, and Dean turned his head quickly to find its source, finding a group of about eight people sitting together at one of the tables, a couple dozen feet away from where he and Sam were sitting. One of the men at the table was talking loudly with a big smile on his face, gesturing wildly with his hands, and the group around him smiled and whooped in encouragement, laughing loudly as he apparently told them the funniest story they’d ever heard.</p><p>They all looked so happy, so carefree.</p><p>It made Dean feel a little sick to his stomach.</p><p>“And then there’s Cas,” Sam continued, because <em>of-fucking-course</em> he did. “I mean, I know he died to save you, that it was his choice, but still…” Sam pulled in a breath, then let it out in the form of a heavy sigh, shoulders sagging at his sides. “After all these years, after everything we’ve been through… he deserved to see how it all ended. We wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for him. He deserved to be here, with us, till the very end. It just… it feels wrong that he’s not.”</p><p>Dean flinched again—though this time, it actually came out like an ugly, pained grimace.</p><p>Because Sam was right—of course he was. Regardless of anything that’d happened when Cas died, or even of how much Dean simply <em>wanted</em> Cas here… the fact of the matter was, Cas really did <em>deserve</em> to be here, above everything else.</p><p>Cas had been the one to believe in Jack since the very beginning, even before he was born. He’d fought for Jack, and he'd done everything to protect him, even when everyone else thought Jack was a monster, when everyone could only see him as nothing more than Lucifer’s son, when Heaven and the British Men of Letters, and even Sam and Dean had believed that the safest option was for him die. Damn it, Cas had only made that damn deal with the Empty to bring Jack back, to make sure that he'd get another chance to <em>live.</em></p><p>Cas had seen it—how Jack was supposed to bring Paradise on Earth, how that was his <em>destiny. </em>He’d seen it all along.</p><p>However, Dean had to admit that he’d been pretty skeptical of that whole concept, before all this, and he knew Sam had never really gotten it either, as much as he loved Jack. Sure, Dean had always thought Jack was special—that was a given, really, all things considered—but to think that the same kid who was unhealthily obsessed with nougat, who somehow managed to be even more awkward and socially inept than <em>Cas,</em> and who’d learned to make a freaking bubblegum pop two freaking <em>months</em> ago, was destined to bring peace to the world? Paradise on Earth? That’d always seemed a bit too farfetched to him; he’d just never had the heart to tell Cas that.</p><p>But as it turned out, Cas had been right. He’d been right all along.</p><p>And he’d never get to see it. He’d never even <em>know.</em></p><p>The half-slice of pie he’d eaten now felt like a freaking rock sitting in his stomach, and as he looked down at the remnants of it, at the handful of bites that were still sitting on his plate, Dean felt a spark of nausea coming to life inside of him.</p><p>Well, guess that was enough of <em>that.</em></p><p>Without a word, Dean turned a bit in his seat and pushed his plate into Sam’s hands, and his brother was so startled by it, so caught off guard that he had no other reaction other than grabbing the plate before it could fall to the ground.</p><p>He did snap out of it when Dean got up to his feet, though, and a heavy frown formed in his brows, his eyes growing a little wider. “Where are you going?”</p><p>“Back to the motel,” Dean answered. “I gotta check on Miracle. I think I'll make him company for a bit. Just drop by when you and Eileen are ready to go to Canton.” He was ready to just walk away right then—in fact, he actually started to do just that as soon as he was done talking, but he only managed to take a couple of steps away from the bench before his brother called out after him.</p><p>“Dean, wait!”</p><p>A hand closed around his arm, and Dean’s steps halted. He rolled his eyes in annoyance, but still turned around to face his brother, only to find a pair of big, puppy dog eyes directed at him.</p><p>Oh, for <em>fuck’s </em>sake.</p><p>“Sam, just…” Dean sighed, shaking his head, giving his brother what he knew must have come out as a sad, pleading look, but he just didn’t have the strength in him to put up a strong face anymore. He felt drained, completely spent.</p><p>He lifted a hand, waving it loosely in the air, gesturing in the direction where most of the people attending to the festival were currently gathered—near the big, main table where the vast selection of pies was being displayed, like a huge, crust-filled buffet. “Just go find Eileen and, you know, have a good time. Spend some quality time with your girlfriend, eat some pie. Really, just… have fun.”</p><p>For some reason, Sam actually looked <em>offended</em> to hear that—really, his eyes went all wide and surprised, mouth opening, lips parting as he got ready to say something, but no sound actually came out. He truly seemed at a loss for words for a second there, looking like Dean had just freaking slapped him or something.</p><p>Until he finally snapped out of it and said, “Dean, that’s what I want for <em>you. </em>It’s why we came here in the first place. I’m not going to just… go off and spend some time with Eileen, or have a good time here while you’re holed up in that motel room with the dog, just moping around and sulking by yourself. That’s literally <em>all</em> you’ve been doing for over <em>two weeks</em> now.”</p><p>Oh, <em>wow.</em></p><p>Dean huffed, shaking his head. He swallowed back a sharp, annoyed retort, and instead settled for a quiet, pleading, “Sam, can we please not do this right now?”</p><p>Sam seemed a little surprised by his tone, but that sure as hell wasn’t enough to deter him. He sighed—in frustration, it looked like—turning the puppy dog eyes up to max. “Dean, I just want you to—"</p><p>“Sam, please,” Dean cut him off, “Just… <em>please. </em>I’m trying, okay? I really am. But this is too much, too fast, and I… I just need to take a breather, okay?”</p><p>Sam definitely didn’t look happy about it, and for a moment there, it really looked like he was about to argue.</p><p>Much to Dean’s relief, however, he didn’t. Eventually, after a pause that had already stretched on for a few seconds too long, Sam let out a sigh, giving his brother a slow, relenting nod.</p><p>“Okay,” he agreed, searching his pockets until he found the keys to the motel room he and Eileen had rented, handing them over. “Okay, just… We’ll be right over, and then we can make the drive to Canton.”</p><p>Dean nodded, hand tightening around the keys. “Yeah, just… don’t rush it. Try to have a good time. Take a break, or something. You and Eileen deserve it.”</p><p>Sam simply offered him another nod and a small, halfhearted smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.</p><p>Dean did his best not to think about that as he turned around and resumed making his way over to where he’d parked the Impala, ignoring the heavy weight he could feel sitting inside his chest, the cold, unforgiving fist of guilt currently squeezing his heart.</p><p>He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the weight of Sam’s eyes on him, following him all the way to his car.</p><p>
  <strong>*~*~*~*~*</strong>
</p><p>As it turned out, they <em>weren’t</em> dealing with vamp-mimes, much to Dean’s disappointment.</p><p>No, they were just dealing with a nest of vampires who for some reason wore some ridiculous-looking, cheap-ass clown masks whenever they killed people and kidnapped kids, because <em>that</em> wasn’t weird at all.</p><p>And really, those masks looked absolutely fucking <em>awful. </em>If Dean actually did retire after this, if this really turned out to be his last hunt ever, well, he definitely wasn’t impressed. <em>This</em> was how he was going to wrap up all those years of saving people, hunting things? With a bunch of boring, average vampires wearing some lame-ass, dollar-store clown masks that made them look like a bunch freaking juggalos? <em>This</em> was his grand, epic finale?</p><p>Seriously, what a fucking disappointment.</p><p>But, well, at least the whole thing was pretty freaking simple. After they arrived in Canton, the three of them just waited for a couple hours, hidden in the shadows outside the house they’d singled out as the most probable next target until the vamps finally showed up in a freaking van like a bunch average, uncreative serial killers. And then they got to work, easily killing one of the fangs and tying the other up so they could figure out whether those two kids that the vamps had kidnapped a couple nights ago were still alive, and if they were, where they could find them.</p><p>The guy hadn’t been too keen on talking at first, but he’d broken after Dean threatened to cut his head off with a freaking spoon. That got him talking <em>real</em> fast, and soon enough they’d not only learned that the kids <em>were</em> still alive, but they also had a lead to follow on a location. The guy didn’t exactly give them an address, but they had a pretty damn specific description that was surely enough to get them there.</p><p>So in the end, they didn’t actually need to bring out the spoon, or even the tiny knife. Once they had all the information they needed, the guy got the machete treatment—because they were just nice like that.</p><p>And once <em>that</em> was dealt with, it was only a matter of driving over to the old, abandoned barn the vampire had described for them and bursting in with their machetes swinging through the air.</p><p>Again, the case was pretty simple, but there <em>had</em> been a little weird moment there when some vampire chick Dean hadn’t thought about in fifteen years—it’d actually taken him a moment to remember her name, to be honest, but <em>somehow, </em>by some freaking <em>miracle </em>that he definitely wasn’t going to question, it’d actually come to him eventually.</p><p>Jenny, yes! <em>Of course </em>he remembered Jenny. He’d never really <em>wondered </em>what’d happened to Jenny, if he was being honest, but, well, now he knew where she’d wound up, after all those years. She’d turned into a bloodsucking, heartless, murderous bitch, apparently.</p><p>And now she was dead.</p><p>They’d literally talked for like, thirty seconds, and then Sam cut off her head—and, well, that was that.</p><p>Guess that was enough of Jenny.</p><p>Fun times.</p><p>Also, on top of that particularly bizarre moment, Dean <em>did </em>have a little scare while they were dealing with the vamps. There’d been five of them—counting bitchy, unforgettable Jenny—and while Dean, Sam and Eileen were all pretty damn good fighters, they were still outnumbered, by creatures that were at least five times stronger than them, and they'd <em>definitely</em> lost the element of surprise, so the actual killing of the vamps wasn’t as… <em>uneventful</em> as Dean had expected it to be.</p><p>No, the three of them were actually getting tossed around all over the place, but that was fine—really, that was <em>normal</em> during hunts like this.</p><p>Except for—well, there’d been one particularly scary moment when Dean threw himself at one of the vamps, and the damn thing actually hoisted him up a bit and pushed him backwards, moving too quickly for Dean to react, causing the hunter’s feet to pretty much drag against the floor, gaining no traction whatsoever and unable to stop what was happening fast enough. The vampire was strong, and he actually managed to push Dean back a good five feet before two gunshots rang through the air and the vamp froze, eyes widening for a second in what Dean assumed to be both surprise <em>and</em> pain, before he let out a small groan, falling to the ground and bringing Dean down with him.</p><p>And then Eileen was there, towering over the both of them with a gun in her hand. She wasted no time before shooting a couple more bullets into the vamp—all of them covered in dead man’s blood, just like all the bullets they’d brought with them into this barn—before she quickly pulled out her machete and finished the guy off. She was hugging her arm to her chest—the same one Chuck had hurt, and that she’d had constantly hanging from a sling only a few days ago—and she winced whenever she moved it, so Dean found it safe to assume that she’d hurt it again.</p><p>And yet, she’d still been her usual badass self and saved his freaking ass—quite literally, actually, because when Dean glanced behind himself and realized what the vampire had been pushing him toward, he felt his stomach sink all the way down to the freaking floor.</p><p>The damn fucking fang had actually tried to push Dean against a damn piece of rebar that was sticking out from one of the pillars, because <em>that’s </em>a normal fucking thing to have in a barn. And with the strength the vamp had been putting into it, Dean was pretty sure he might have ended up impaled on fucking thing if Eileen hadn’t shot the vamp down so quickly, which would definitely not have ended well for Dean.</p><p>And really, how fucking <em>ridiculous </em>would that have been? After everything he’d been through over the last 15 years—stopping Apocalypse after Apocalypse, getting caught up in more than one war between Heaven and Hell, after spending over a damn year in Purgatory, killing Azazel, Cain, Abaddon, and the original Death<em>, </em>after taking on the Devil, the Darkness and God Himself, just how fucking <em>absurd </em>would it be if he’d actually gotten killed by a piece of fucking metal digging into his back while he worked a run-of-the-mill hunt, killing some average, mask-wearing, ridiculous-looking fucking vamps in some random backwoods barn?</p><p>Even <em>Chuck</em> wouldn’t have written such a bad, lackluster, downright <em>laughable</em> ending for him, because at least <em>he</em> wanted Sam and Dean to kill each other, to fulfill that weird, brother-killing-brother, Cain-and-Abel kink that he had going on. Sure, Chuck’s writing was bad, uncreative, lazy and repetitive, but <em>this, </em>right here?</p><p>Killer-rebar would have definitely taken the fucking <em>cake, </em>that’s for sure.</p><p>The single thought of it was just so freaking <em>ludicrous</em> that it was actually enough to have Dean shaking his head in disbelief, letting out a small, incredulous huff as he got himself up to his feet and dusted himself off a bit, getting rid of all the dust and hay currently clinging to his clothes, because seriously, what the <em>fuck.</em></p><p>Yeah, it was definitely about time he retired. He really didn’t want to deal with this shit anymore.</p><p>Near-death-by-rusty-piece-of-rebar aside, the clean-up was pretty easy after it was all said and done. They took care of all the vamps’ bodies, then located the kids—who, much to Dean’s relief, were perfectly fine. They had a few scratches on them, and they were both scared and hungry, but they’d live.</p><p>Upon closer inspection, though, it really looked like Eileen may have broken her arm—or, well, maybe her shoulder and wrist simply hadn’t been fully healed yet, and the strain she’d put them under by fighting those vamps had upset the healing process somehow. Either way, when it became clear that she was actually in quite a lot of pain, Sam’s worried coddling got so bad that eventually, after a whole lot of insisting and begging on Sam’s part, Eileen finally agreed to go to a hospital to get checked over by an actual doctor and, if it was deemed necessary, get an X-ray to make sure that her arm was fine, so the task of taking those kids back to Akron and wrapping up the case with the local police fell upon Dean.</p><p>Since they’d only taken the Impala when they drove out to the barn, Dean dropped Sam and Eileen off at the nearest hospital first, then made the drive back to Akron as fast as he could. The boys were mostly quiet during the drive, save from when the older one would hug his little brother closer and whisper quiet reassurances to him, trying to calm him down and telling him over and over again that they were safe, that they’d be okay, and that they’d be home soon.</p><p>That whole scene actually put a soft, gentle smile on Dean’s face, because it reminded him of how he would do the exact same thing for Sam when they were little.</p><p>Only instead of telling Sam that they were safe, that they were going home, that the monsters were gone, Dean would be telling Sam that yes, of course Dad was gonna come back, so he didn’t have to worry. Yes, there was always another monster, always another hunt, and they didn’t exactly have a <em>home, </em>but they didn’t really need one.Of course their Dad knew what he was doing, so they had no reason to worry about him. Of course he’d come back—he always did. That’s just how it worked.</p><p><em>“Dad’s a freaking hero, Sammy!” </em>he’d say, believing it fully, without a single sliver of doubt in his mind. <em>“He’s killing monsters, saving people, making the world a better place for everyone—for <strong>us. </strong>I mean, doesn’t that sound awesome? He has the best job in the whole freaking world!”</em></p><p>Dean scoffed, just from remembering it, just from hearing the echo of his own words, from so long ago, from a younger version of himself that no longer existed.</p><p>He’d been so fucking naïve.</p><p>It took him about three hours to get everything done—drive all the way to Akron, go to the police to drop off the kids and wrap up the case, and then drive back to Canton to meet up with Sam and Eileen at the Mercy Medical Center.</p><p>Sam was waiting outside when Dean finally got there, standing a few feet away from the entrance to the ER, his arms crossed over his chest and his back pressed to a pillar as he stared off into the distance with a small, worried frown in his brows. His expression was blank, distant, his eyes a little glazed and unfocused. It looked like his mind was <em>far</em> away from there.</p><p>He straightened up as soon as he saw Dean walking up to him, though, blinking away whatever spell had made him look like he’d simply ditched his body or something, a clear question forming in his eyes.</p><p>“It’s done,” Dean announced once he was close enough, before his brother could actually voice that question. “The kids are with the police, and they’ll be reunited with their mom soon. The case’s closed—at least on our end, anyway. There’s probably gonna be a lot of paperwork for them to deal with, but that’s not <em>our</em> problem.”</p><p>Sam huffed, then nodded. “Good.”</p><p>Yeah. Good.</p><p>“How’s Eileen?”</p><p>Sam pursed his lips, giving Dean a weak shrug. “The doctors don’t think her arm’s broken, but they’re taking an X-ray, just to make sure. She did upset her shoulder, though. Dislocated again.”</p><p>Yikes.</p><p>“Guess the sling’s coming back,” Dean huffed. “I did tell you, though. You guys should’ve waited a little longer to hop back into this.”</p><p>Sam shrugged. “If I hadn’t come along, she would’ve done it anyway. It’s not like I can tell her what to do, Dean.”</p><p>Dean raised his hands in front of his chest. “That’s not what I said. You <em>both</em> made a pretty bad decision. Together. The two of you. <em>That’s</em> what I’m saying.”</p><p>Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Well, we did save those kids, <em>and</em> that second family, so…” He shrugged. “I’d say it turned out to be a pretty good decision, in the end.”</p><p>Well, he did have a point there.</p><p>Figuring there was no point in arguing with his brother any further, Dean pulled in a breath and let it out slowly, letting his eyes wander, taking in the big, poorly-lit parking lot right in front of them. For a minute, he found himself watching as a silver pickup truck carefully maneuvered out of a parking spot a few feet away and slowly glided over to the exit. One of their brake lights was out on the right side. They should probably get that fixed. Briefly, Dean wondered if they even knew that their tail light was busted.</p><p>“Dean…”</p><p>Oh, no. Dean definitely didn’t like the sound of <em>that.</em></p><p>He turned his head, regarding his brother carefully, and the look he found in those big hazel eyes—that careful, hesitant, <em>pleading </em>look that Dean had been on the receiving end of way too many times during the past couple of weeks—had that same uneasiness he was getting awfully familiar with quickly making itself known in his gut.</p><p>He shook his head, letting out a sharp, “Sam, don’t,” before his brother had a chance to elaborate.</p><p>Sam’s face fell a little at that, but he still shook his head after a moment, clearly not willing to back down just yet. “Dean, we need to talk.”</p><p>Dean’s immediate response to that was to roll his eyes with an annoyed huff, then turn his head so that he was once again staring out at the hospital parking lot. “No, we don’t.”</p><p>“Yes, we <em>do,” </em>Sam insisted, voice growing just a tad bit louder, more urgent. “Dean, you can’t keep doing this.”</p><p>“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” Dean retorted. “I mean, wasn’t that the fucking <em>point?”</em></p><p>Dean wasn’t looking directly at him, but he could still tell that his brother was shaking his head again. He also felt it was pretty safe to guess that one of Sam’s trademark bitchfaces had most likely already settled into place, easily displaying his brother’s annoyance.</p><p>But when Sam spoke again, his voice sounded much weaker, lower than Dean had expected, words practically coated with uncertainty.</p><p>“Dean, I just… I just want you to talk to me. And I know you don’t <em>want</em> to do that—<em>believe </em>me, I know—but I just… I feel like I’m losing you, man, and I… I don’t know what to <em>do.”</em></p><p>Oh, wow, didn’t that just make Dean feel absolutely fucking <em>awful.</em></p><p>He swallowed drily, feeling his heart about a hundred times heavier inside his chest, knowing that <em>he </em>was the reason why his brother sounded so distressed, why he was feeling like this.</p><p>And yet, Dean still refused to look at him.</p><p>“That’s the thing, Sam,” he whispered, shaking his head weakly, halfheartedly. “There’s nothing you can do.”</p><p>A tense, heavy silence followed those words, and while Dean could very easily feel the weight of his brother’s gaze on the side of his face, burning invisible holes into his skin, he still couldn’t bring himself to meet Sam’s eyes again.</p><p>That pause went on for a while, and when that stifling silence was finally broken, it was due to Sam’s low, cautious voice filling the air again, letting out a question that Dean definitely wasn’t prepared to hear right now.</p><p>“Dean, what really happened to Cas?”</p><p>Dean swiveled around, fixing Sam with a surprised, wide-eyed look, because seriously, where the hell had <em>that</em> come from?</p><p>“What?” he asked, not even bothering to hide his shock.</p><p>Sam let out a breath, shoulders rising and falling in a weak, uncertain shrug. “You said that he summoned the Empty to save you, but I know there’s more to it. Whenever I’ve tried to talk to you about it, there’s just this… I don’t know—this <em>look</em> in your eyes. They get all… glassy and weird, and I have no idea what that means. It’s like you just… shut down. Honestly, it’s starting to scare me a little. There’s something that you’re not telling me, and I would <em>really </em>like to know what it is, because then at least I’d know how I can <em>help </em>you.”</p><p>Dean looked away again, clenching his jaw a couple times as he tried—and failed—to figure out how the hell he was supposed to respond to <em>that.</em></p><p>Fuck, he really didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to <em>deal </em>with this.</p><p>Seriously, why couldn’t everyone just leave him <em>alone? </em>Why wasn’t he allowed to deal with his grief on his own? Was that really too much to ask?</p><p>“I mean, I get that you’re grieving,” Sam added when Dean didn’t immediately offer any kind of response. “I’ve been there—but, well, you already know that, obviously. But all the other times we’ve lost Cas before, you never lashed out like this. You <em>wanted</em> to get out there, to get things done, to just <em>do </em>something, because that’s just how you deal with this sort of thing. You just throw yourself into hunting, or into… well, whatever else we may be dealing with at the time, I guess—finding Jack, or figuring out how to deal with the Leviathan, or with the <em>first</em> Apocalypse. So that’s why… that’s why I thought hunting would make you feel better, help you forget—at least for a little while. But this—whatever <em>this</em> is—the way you’re just… I don’t know. It’s like you’ve just… given up. This is all <em>new</em>, and I don’t…” He shook his head, and he sounded a little choked up, his voice strained when he added a low, pleading, “I’m worried about you.”</p><p>Dean raised a hand, running it over his face, scratching at his beard. His heart clenched painfully inside his chest, guilt and a heaping dose of good ol' self-hatred bubbling up inside of him, coiling in his gut like a deadly, venomous snake.</p><p>But as much as he hated this, as much as he wished that there was <em>something</em> he could do to wipe that heartbroken expression off of his little brother’s face, to make this <em>better</em> somehow… well, he knew he couldn’t. There wasn’t anything he could do. He couldn’t just tell Sam the truth, couldn’t <em>explain </em>why exactly he was acting like this.</p><p>Sam didn’t get it—he <em>couldn’t </em>get it. Truth be told, he never had—not really, because he didn’t <em>know</em> everything. He didn’t get it the first, second, third, fourth, <em>fifth </em>time that Cas had died before this one—Dean had made sure of that, in so many different ways over the years.</p><p>But on top of all that, Sam didn’t get that this time, it was <em>different. </em>This time, Dean knew that he hadn’t simply lost his best friend—no, he’d lost <em>so much more</em> than that, and he’d <em>never</em> be able to get him back. They’d never get a chance to…</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>“This time, it’s…” Dean shook his head, swallowing past the lump in his throat. No matter how much he <em>didn’t </em>want to do this, how every single cell in his body was screaming at him to just <em>shut the hell up, </em>he knew he had to give Sam <em>something. </em>He owed him that much, at least. “It’s just different.”</p><p>And that was all he could say about it—all that he would allow himself to say. If he elaborated any further, he might end up saying something he’d regret, something that he wouldn’t be able to take back, and that just wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.</p><p>“How?” Sam asked, sounding genuinely confused. “Why is it different?”</p><p>Dean chose not to answer, keeping his eyes focused right ahead, even if there was literally <em>nothing</em> happening out in the parking lot right now, no movement to be seen anywhere. The air around them was cold, a constant, chilly breeze brushing relentlessly against his skin, and the temperature seemed to be dropping rapidly—which was expected for this time of the night, really. It was well past midnight, after all, not to mention that they were halfway through the first week of freaking December. He already counted himself lucky that it wasn’t snowing tonight.</p><p>When Sam spoke again, his voice was much lower, more tentative.</p><p>“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Sam whispered, and Dean finally turned back to look at him again, just so he could direct a frown his brother’s way, making his confusion clear. “Whatever happened that day, whatever Cas had to do to save you—it wasn’t your fault.”</p><p>Oh, wasn’t that just fucking <em>rich—</em>and definitely <em>not </em>what Dean needed to hear right now.</p><p>Dean could barely even contain his annoyance as he shook his head, giving his brother an incredulous look. “How the <em>fuck</em> could you possibly know that?”</p><p>“I can see you blaming yourself for it,” Sam replied with a small shrug. “And I know you, Dean—better than anyone else. I know that’s probably playing a part in… well,” He lifted a hand to gesture at Dean, “All <em>this.”</em></p><p>And, well, that’s a fucking wrap! Dean was now officially done with this conversation.</p><p>“You know, what? I don’t need to deal with this.”</p><p>Dean spun on his heels without waiting for a response, fully intent on crossing the parking lot toward the Impala and driving off before his brother could ask him any more absurdly untimely questions, or say any more stupid shit like, ‘Whatever Cas had to do to save you wasn’t your <em>fault, </em>Dean.'</p><p>Well, guess what, Sammy? It <em>was</em> his fucking fault.</p><p>Everything—absolutely <em>everything </em>that’d happened that day had been his <em>own</em> <em>damn fault.</em></p><p>But of course, Sam just wasn’t willing to let him go so easily—and this time, he reached out way too quickly, getting a hold of Dean’s arm before he could take more than one step forward.</p><p>“Oh, no, you are <em>not</em> just walking off on me again, Dean.”</p><p>Dean turned his head to give his brother the most heated, withering glare he could manage right now, but he didn’t try to shake out of his brother’s grasp—at least not yet. “What the <em>fuck</em> do you want me to say, Sam?”</p><p>“I know there’s something you’re not telling me,” Sam replied, apparently completely unaffected by that glare, or by the sharp tone of his brother’s voice. In fact, there was absolutely no hesitation in Sam’s voice now, no uncertainty. Instead, all Dean could hear in it was frustration, and impatience, both practically dripping from every syllable. “I know you’re not telling me everything, and you know, I’ve been patient—I really, really have, Dean, but this has to <em>stop.”</em></p><p>Dean’s entire body tensed up at once, but he was quick to square his shoulders, gathering up every last drop of confidence he could find inside himself—which really wasn’t that much to being with—trying to put on a strong, unwavering front. He definitely didn’t like <em>anything </em>about this, and there was a strong feeling bubbling up inside of him and slowly climbing its way up his throat that felt just a tad bit too much like panic, but in spite of all that, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Sam know just how fucking <em>terrified</em> he was feeling right now, how much he actually <em>dreaded </em>the direction this conversation was apparently going in.</p><p>“The hell you talking about?”</p><p><em>“This.” </em>Sam gestured at his brother again, waving his hand wildly through the air. “Dean, we’ve been keeping secrets from each other for as long as I can remember<em>, </em>but now… I don’t know what this is all about—I mean, not <em>really</em>—but I can tell that whatever it is—whatever you don’t want to tell me—I can see it’s weighing you down. I just want to <em>help </em>you, but I can’t do that if you don’t <em>talk </em>to me.”</p><p>“Help me?” Dean asked, incredulous, then shook his head. “Sam, you can’t fucking help me—not with this.”</p><p>“Not if you don’t let me,” Sam argued. “Not if you just shut everyone out—shut <em>me </em>out. But if you just <em>tell</em> me what really happened, what really <em>caused</em> all this, then maybe I could—”</p><p>“That’s just <em>it, </em>Sam!” Dean cut him off, raising his voice as the last sliver of self-control he’d still had in him finally burned out. “It doesn’t matter what I tell you, because there just <em>isn’t </em>anything you can do! Why is that so <em>hard</em> to get through your head?!”</p><p>Sam paused, clearly taken aback by Dean’s outburst, eyes growing a little wider. When he finally seemed to recover from his shock, however, he squared his shoulders, clenching his jaw a couple times before he finally shook his head.</p><p>“I miss him too, you know,” was his reply. His voice sounded strong, almost sharp, though it still carried a clear, audible hint of hurt. “I lost him too.”</p><p>Dean couldn’t help it—before he could even try to stop it, an ugly, humorless laugh tore out of his mouth—just a choked, broken thing that sounded weird and foreign to his ears. His eyes were burning, but he honestly couldn’t tell whether the tears currently gathering in his eyes were forming out of sadness or anger.</p><p>His fists curled at his sides, short, blunt fingernails digging into his palms. Fuck, his hands were actually <em>shaking </em>now<em>, </em>so maybe it was safe to assume that his tears were building up out of anger more than anything else.</p><p>“You know <em>what, </em>Sam?” Dean challenged, raising his voice enough that Sam immediately closed his mouth shut, eyes widening in surprise.</p><p>But that wasn’t enough to stop him—no, because Dean was at his tipping point, and Sam had literally just chewed on the very <em>last </em>thread of patience he’d still had in him.</p><p>“You’re right,” he said, raising his arms and spreading them wide on either side of him, palms turned up to the starry night sky. “You’re <em>absolutely</em> fucking right. There <em>is</em> something you don’t know, so you don’t get to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, that I shouldn’t blame myself for it.” He let his arms fall back to hang at his sides, but his voice didn’t lose its strength even in the slightest. “You shouldn’t try to tell me how I should feel right now, or about all the magical fucking ways that you’ve thought up to help me get over what happened, because you <em>don’t </em>know everything, and you know why? Because you <em>weren’t </em>fucking there. You didn’t watch him <em>die, </em>Sam. You didn’t have to just sit there, doing absolutely <em>nothing </em>like a useless pile of fucking dirt while the damn Empty took him away. So, yeah, maybe there’s more to it—to all <em>this</em>.” He gestured at himself, much like Sam had done twice already, but his own movements were sharp and careless, fueled on by his frustration, by his <em>anger</em>. “Maybe something else happened right before Cas died that I just <em>can’t </em>forget about, that’s haunted me for <em>weeks, </em>that I’ve had fucking <em>nightmares</em> about. But why does it matter? He’s <em>dead, </em>Sam. Cas is dead, and he's not coming back this time, so why does it fucking <em>matter?!”</em></p><p>Maybe he should be trying to keep his voice down, and he was really freaking lucky that there wasn’t anyone around to hear his little outburst, but even if there <em>were</em> someone there, Dean doubted he would’ve cared enough to keep his voice down, or to be careful with his words.</p><p>He was just done—with talking about his damn feelings, with Sam’s <em>obsessive </em>hovering, with feeling like this, with all this <em>pain.</em></p><p>He was <em>done,</em> with fucking <em>everything.</em></p><p>With a sharp tug, he pulled his arm free from Sam’s grasp, and his brother was apparently so stunned by Dean’s outburst that he had absolutely no reaction to it. He offered no resistance to the movement at all, and instead simply let his hand fall to hang limply at his side, useless, forgotten, his eyes still a little wide, a small, confused pinch between his brows.</p><p>Dean took that as his cue, and before his brother could snap out of it, before he could recover from his shock and start saying things again, Dean turned on his heel and did the only thing he could think to do in that moment.</p><p>He made a break for it, marching across the parking lot with wide, hurried steps, not allowing himself to slow down for even a single second until he finally reached his car.</p><p>He could practically <em>feel</em> his brother’s eyes following him all the way there, boring holes into his back, but he didn’t dare to glance back and check if he was just imagining it, or if Sam really was still there, standing by the entrance to the ER, completely frozen in place as he watched Dean walk away with that same sad, worried look in his eyes—the one that never failed to make Dean feel like his heart might actually shatter into a tiny million pieces inside his chest.</p><p>He'd rather not know.</p><p>So he slipped inside the Impala without looking back and started up the car, not allowing himself even the briefest moment of hesitation as he did it. And once he had Baby awake and running, rumbling loudly underneath him, he backed out of his parking spot and carefully maneuvered her over to the exit without sending so much as a single glance back at his brother.</p><p>His hands were <em>still</em> shaking, and he had them both wrapped just a bit too tightly around the Impala’s steering wheel, but there really wasn’t anything he could do about that. He was too worked up, too tense, his muscles locked up like a coiled spring, ready to burst at any second. His heart was hammering inside his chest, drumming a rhythmless, frantic song against his ribs, and there was a weird feeling in his gut that felt way too much like nausea, which just wasn’t good. He really didn’t feel like throwing up right now, but he had a feeling he might not get a choice on that.</p><p>Much to his relief, however, the drive to the motel was rather uneventful, not to mention surprisingly brief, and the moment Dean stepped into Sam and Eileen’s room, Miracle came running toward him, tail wagging vigorously and yapping excitedly at him in greeting. Normally, that scene would have definitely made his chest feel a little warmer, and it may even have been enough to make him smile, but not this time, not tonight. He was just too shaken up for it right now, his nerves raw and frayed, emotions still running way too high. His hands still shook at his sides.</p><p>He still knelt down to greet Miracle, though, running his fingers carefully through the shaggy fur that covered the dog’s head, just like he usually did.</p><p>“Hey, buddy,” he said, keeping his voice low. There was not even a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, not a single hint of warmth or amusement shining in his eyes, but there was nothing he could do about that, either. “Hope you weren’t too bored here all by yourself. I know I was gone a while.”</p><p>Miracle simply blinked up at him with those big, brown eyes of his, panting slightly with his pink tongue peeking out of his mouth, but his tail had stopped wagging by then, and he looked a little guarded. Dean was pretty sure he’d heard somewhere that dogs could sense people’s moods, to some degree, so maybe that explained it. He could probably tell Dean wasn’t in a cheery, playful mood right now.</p><p>Dean was still all grimy and disgusting, still covered in dirt, sweat and a little bit of blood, since he hadn’t yet had the time to take a shower since they’d finished up that hunt, but he felt weird about showering in Sam and Eileen’s room—which didn’t make a whole lot of sense, really, because he and Sam had been sharing motel rooms for as far as Dean could remember, but for some reason that he really couldn’t explain, he felt… weird about it, now that Eileen was also in the picture. Not to mention that his bag was still out there in the car, and he also didn’t feel like going out there to get it, so if he took a shower here, he wouldn’t have any clean clothes to put on afterwards.</p><p>On the other hand, he also definitely didn’t feel like going over to the motel’s front office to rent himself a room right now—not when he was still feeling so jittery and worked up, so it really seemed like his shower would have to wait a bit.</p><p>It certainly didn’t take him too long to make a decision on that, and soon enough he elected to just linger around in that room for a little longer, even if only so he could have a chance to cool down a little, to get his rampaging emotions under control. So once he was done greeting Miracle and found himself back on his feet, he crossed the room in a few slow, heavy steps and lowered himself down onto the edge of the bed—which <em>wasn’t </em>weird, because Sam and Eileen hadn’t spent a night in here yet, so Dean didn’t need to be mindful of where he sat on the bed, at least.</p><p>Miracle let out a small, unhappy whine when the hunter started moving, but didn’t try to get closer to him as Dean took a seat on the bed and leaned forward, pressing his elbows down against his thighs and letting his head fall forward so he could hold it in his hands.</p><p>His mind was still reeling, thoughts still racing after his conversation—no, his <em>argument </em>with Sam, but right now, thinking about it, reliving all the harsh words and bitter truths that they’d thrown at each other back at that hospital would do the very opposite of helping, and he really needed to calm himself down. He could <em>still </em>feel his heart beating in his freaking throat, could still feel his muscles trembling, tiny, gentle tremors running up and down his limbs, and he figured that really couldn’t be a good sign.</p><p>Fuck, he needed to find something else that he could focus on right now, something to distract him from the absolute <em>mess</em> that currently made up his thoughts, of the unruly storm of emotions that were currently wreaking havoc inside his head.</p><p>He raised his head, looking around the room, taking in the tacky, bright green wallpaper, the cheap-looking furniture and the old, moldy carpet beneath his boots—all very common things in the kinds of motels he frequented normally. Dean was very much used to it, after all these years, so nothing he could see in here was actually enough to capture his attention for too long.</p><p>They’d rented this room only a few hours ago, right after they’d arrived in Canton. Of course, the only reason they’d stopped at a motel to rent a room <em>before </em>they’d gone to deal with the vampires was because they’d needed somewhere to leave Miracle, but Sam and Eileen had already been planning on spending the night in Canton anyway, predicting that they’d be pretty tired after they were done with the hunt and that they probably wouldn’t feel like hitting the road right away, so they hadn’t needed to really put a lot of thought into it before they decided to just go ahead and rent a room for themselves as soon as they drove into town.</p><p>Dean, on the other hand, had been unsure whether or not he would be leaving as soon as the hunt was done, and he figured he could just make that decision afterwards, once the vampires were all properly dealt with. Even if the vampires <em>hadn’t </em>attacked tonight, he could still rent a room anytime he wanted, so he hadn’t bothered with it earlier.</p><p>Now he was regretting that decision a little bit, since again, he <em>really</em> could use a shower, not to mention that a bed—or, well, any place where he could just lie down and pass out for a whole freaking week sounded absolutely <em>heavenly</em> to him right now. He was almost tempted to just let himself fall backwards onto <em>this </em>bed, just to rest his tired, aching muscles for a little bit, for just a few minutes, but he couldn’t take the risk of falling asleep in here. He definitely couldn’t hang around in this room for too long, or else he might be unlucky enough to <em>still </em>be here when Sam and Eileen came back from the hospital.</p><p>No, he just needed to stay sitting right where he was, for just a few minutes. He just needed cool off a little, to take a breather and try to calm himself down until he felt ready to venture out of that room and go over to the front office, where he would undoubtedly need to interact with another human being if he wanted to rent himself a room for the night.</p><p>Only, he knew he couldn’t avoid Sam and Eileen forever. He could hole up in his own, private room for tonight, but tomorrow morning, he would have no other choice but to face those two, to be on the receiving end of their inquiring, questioning looks, to see the concern that would undoubtedly be written all across their faces as they took in his tired, rumpled state. And really, that was the <em>last </em>thing Dean wanted to deal with right now.</p><p>But… well, he could always <em>not </em>stick around tonight. Sure, he was fucking <em>exhausted </em>after that hunt, so he definitely shouldn’t be sitting behind a wheel right now, but if it meant that he could get away from Sam’s unrelenting questioning and Eileen’s concerned, far-too-intense looks, maybe it would be worth it. And he could always just drive for an hour and stop in any random, back-of-the-woods town that he came across to get some sleep, if he really needed to. That would work, too.</p><p>While that <em>did</em> sound like a pretty promising plan, however, it still wouldn’t solve everything, because Dean would still have to deal with Sam and Eileen relatively soon. It would take them one, two days at most to get back to the Bunker, which meant that sooner rather than later, Dean would still have to go right back to his usual routine of hiding away in his room until the need to use the bathroom or feed himself eventually overrode his dread of running into either Sam or Eileen—or on the days where his luck was running particularly low, into <em>both </em>of them.</p><p>Sure, Eileen had only been back for a little over a week, but he and Sam had been playing this game of cat and mouse for over <em>two</em> weeks now, and honestly, Dean was growing tired of it. He just wanted to be <em>alone, </em>without having to worry about whether or not his brother would try to strike up a conversation with him the next time they found themselves in the same room together, without tensing up in fear at every single word that left his brother’s mouth, or without so carefully measuring every single thing he said, because he was just absolutely terrified of giving something away, of saying more than he actually meant to.</p><p>Honestly, Dean pretty much hated that he was literally <em>avoiding </em>Sam at this point, but what other choice did he have? His brother seemed very much intent on trying to get Dean to <em>talk, </em>to open up to him so that he could understand what was wrong, so that he could <em>help</em> him, so really, what else could Dean even <em>do </em>here? It wasn’t like he could just—</p><p>Dean’s entire body tensed up at once, and he straightened up on the bed, eyes widening as an idea suddenly slipped into his mind, because how the <em>hell</em> did he not think about this sooner?</p><p>And if he actually did it, then he wouldn’t need to figure out what times of the day he was less likely to run into someone, wouldn’t need to dread every single time he had to leave his room, wouldn’t need to be so freaking tense all the time, muscles constantly locked up like he was about to get pulled into a fist fight whenever he and Sam interacted, whenever they found themselves standing in the same room together. He wouldn’t need to move so quietly through the hallways, stepping as lightly as he possibly could whenever he dared to venture over to the kitchen, ears strained as he tried to detect any sounds that might tell him someone else may be wandering the halls.</p><p>Dean wouldn’t need to do any of that for a while, if he simply… didn’t go back to the Bunker right now.</p><p>It seemed so simple, when he put it like that. Most of the problems he'd been dealing with pretty much on a daily basis for the past two weeks existed precisely because of the fact that he and Sam <em>lived </em>in the same place, because the other was always so close, always within shouting distance. But if you removed <em>that</em> from the equation…</p><p>Well, Dean’s life would suddenly become a lot less stressful, that was for sure.</p><p>He didn’t even know where the fuck he’d go, but he didn’t particularly care about that right now—and, well, before they’d settled into the Bunker, that had never been a problem for them. They’d gone without a proper, permanent roof over their heads for so long, Dean really didn’t mind not knowing where he would be going next, where he might end up spending the night the next day. The only thing that mattered right now was the thought that he could <em>finally </em>have a break from Sam’s incessant, obsessive coddling. He could finally have some time to himself, without needing to plan out every step he took during the day.</p><p>And who knew? Maybe spending some time on the road—just him and his Baby, flying over the asphalt, with her engine roaring and his music blaring from her speakers—that might actually do him some good. It definitely wouldn’t hurt to try.</p><p>At that thought, Dean pushed himself up to his feet, moving quickly, before he could change his mind about this. He knew Sam would <em>not </em>be happy with him, but if things went Dean’s way, Sam would only find out about this once Dean was <em>far</em> away from Canton—too far from him to do anything about it.</p><p>All his things were still in the car, so all he had to gather up in this room were Miracle’s bowls and the dog himself, and once he had everything piled up in his car, Dean was off, backing out of the motel parking lot and speeding away without a single glance behind.</p><p>Canton wasn’t exactly a big city, and they never chose a motel that was too deep into the city anyway, so it definitely didn’t take long for him to put Canton in his rearview mirror, pressing his foot down even harder on the gas pedal when he felt his heart growing heavier inside his chest, straining under the weight of his guilt.</p><p>Sam would be mad, but he would understand. He’d get it, once the initial shock passed. He’d get it.</p><p>Or, well, that’s what Dean kept telling himself, anyway.</p><p>He drove for about an hour after that, until his eyelids grew too heavy, drooping insistently over his tired, burning eyes. By that point, the risk of him falling asleep behind the wheel was way too high, and the thought of him wrapping his Baby around a freaking light pole because he just couldn’t keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds was so unbearably painful that when he found himself driving into Youngstown, only about sixty miles away from Canton, he wasted no time before finding a motel where he could spend the night and finally get some <em>sleep.</em></p><p>Sure, he was still in Ohio, but he figured that he should be far enough away from Canton by now. Once Sam and Eileen finally realized that he’d taken off, they would have no way to know which direction he’d gone in, so he figured he would be safe here for a few hours.</p><p>The first thing he did once he finally found himself inside a motel room (with an uncharacteristically quiet Miracle lying in a corner, eyeing the hunter carefully from his chosen resting spot on the floor) was turn off his phone, because if Sam somehow figured out that he’d left <em>before </em>Dean had a chance to get some much-needed sleep, he definitely didn’t want to know about it.</p><p>But before he could sleep, he needed a freaking <em>shower.</em></p><p>With that thought in mind, he grabbed himself one of the rough, neutral-smelling towels that the motel left for their guests, plus a clean change of sleeping clothes from his duffel, and marched into the tiny, poorly-lit bathroom.</p><p>The water pressure was terrible, and the warm water did absolutely nothing to provide him any sort of comfort, or to help his spent, aching muscles actually relax, but it was still enough to wash away all the sweat, all the dirt and blood that had still been clinging to his skin, so the shower did serve its original purpose, at least.</p><p>By the time Dean stumbled back into the room, wearing nothing more than a simple, ratty black t-shirt and a pair of dark red underwear, he could barely even keep his eyes open, but he still threw a quick glance over at Miracle to make sure that he’d really laid down the dog’s food and water bowls and that his muddled, sleep-addled mind wasn’t simply playing tricks on him. With how unbelievably exhausted he was feeling right now, he wouldn't be surprised if he'd simply imagined himself doing it.</p><p>Once he was satisfied that Miracle had enough food and water to get through the night, Dean slapped his hand over the nearest light switch, draping the room in darkness, before he finally—<em>finally </em>let himself fall onto the bed. The mattress wasn’t heavenly soft or comfortable by any means, but it was still a horizontal surface that Dean could sleep on, and that was already enough for him to let out a content sigh as he buried himself in the covers.</p><p>He didn’t even need a drink to fall asleep tonight, which should have been surprising, considering what’d happened back at the hospital with Sam, or all the unwanted emotions and painful memories that he’d had to deal with today.</p><p>But his muscles were just so thoroughly spent, his body so tired and drained, that not even five full minutes after he'd let himself fall onto that bed, Dean was already out.</p><p>
  <strong>*~*~*~*~*</strong>
</p><p>When Dean woke up the next day, it took a while for the memories to come back, and at first, he wasn’t really sure where he was. His mind was too slow, too foggy, his head feeling unnaturally heavy, but after a couple minutes of running a hand over his face to try and rub the sleep away from his eyes, as he gradually grew used to being conscious again, the memories from last night finally caught up to him.</p><p>Right. He’d had an argument with Sam, right outside the entrance to the ER, which had led Dean to storm off in anger, then take off without telling his brother. And now he was in a motel in Youngstown, Ohio, only about an hour away from Canton.</p><p>Even after it all came back to him, though, he still didn’t move for a while. He knew he should probably turn his phone back on and face the music—of course he did. Light now spilled into the room from both under and through the cheap fabric of the curtains, which meant that he’d been asleep for a while, so Sam and Eileen must know he’d left by now.</p><p>But he didn’t actually want to deal with that right now, so he spent a few more minutes just lying there, staring up at the ceiling, examining a particularly big—and mildly worrying—crack that emerged from the base of the overhead light and stretched out for a good five feet. He stared and waited, mind blissfully blank, until he finally accepted the fact that there was no point in trying to run from this, and that the sooner he got it over with, the better.</p><p>Fuck, but he would very much like to get some coffee first. That sounded pretty damn lovely, really. If he could just—</p><p><em>No, </em>he told himself. If he didn’t do this now, he might end up chickening out of it later, might lose the tiny speck of courage that he still had in him and try to postpone this even more, and he just couldn’t have that. The longer he waited, the more damage it would do—meaning, the more frustrated Sam would get, and the harder it would be to get him to <em>understand.</em></p><p>With a big, suffering sigh, Dean forced himself to roll over on the bed, reaching a hand out so he could grab his phone from where it was resting on top of the small nightstand to his left.</p><p>He was expecting to have a few notifications when he turned his phone back on, but he was still a little startled when the thing spent a good fifteen seconds frantically beeping and vibrating in his hand as all of his missed notifications came in at once.</p><p>When it was finally done, Dean blinked down at the screen, eyebrows rising as he took in the numbers.</p><p>
  <strong>14 new messages</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>[Sam]: 19 missed calls</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>[Eileen]: 2 missed calls</strong>
</p><p>Yikes.</p><p>He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment as he tried to decide on what to do, thumb hovering over the screen, until eventually he chose to simply ignore all the messages and just give Sam a call.</p><p>Before he did it, though, he let his eyes flit over to the top right corner of the screen, where the time was displayed in tiny black letters, realizing with a start that he’d slept until noon. Fuck, he’d really been tired—but, well, it must have been pretty close to sunrise when he’d finally gone to sleep last night, so maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. He’d slept for what, five, six hours at most? That really wasn’t <em>too </em>much.</p><p>Damn, he could <em>really</em> use some coffee right now.</p><p>With a huff, he shook his head to try and push that thought away, then finally forced himself to press the green call button right beside Sam’s name and bring the phone up to his ear, still worrying his lip.</p><p>He almost expected his brother not to answer—and if he was being completely honest here, he was kind of hoping for that too. After everything that’d happened last night, with the vamp hunt and Eileen’s trip to the ER, Sam must have gone to bed even <em>later </em>than Dean had, so there was a pretty big chance that he might still be asleep.</p><p>As it turned out, however, that <em>wasn’t </em>the case, and the call connected after only two rings.</p><p>Dean actually winced when it happened, groaning internally.</p><p>
  <em>Damn it.</em>
</p><p><em>“Dean,” </em>Sam’s rushed, urgent voice quickly filled the line, <em>“Where the hell <strong>are </strong>you?”</em></p><p>Well, wasn’t that rude? Didn’t even give his brother a proper greeting or anything.</p><p>“Mornin’ to you too, Sammy,” Dean grumbled, rolling his eyes. His voice sounded gruff, still rough with sleep.</p><p>Sam scoffed on the other end of the call, clearly annoyed. Dean could very easily picture him rolling his eyes, a scowl on his face.</p><p><em>“Dean, what the hell?” </em>Sam asked, still sounding just as exasperated as he had a moment ago. <em>“We came back to the motel and you were <strong>gone!</strong> Where <strong>are</strong> you?”</em></p><p>Dean paused for a beat, then answered, “Not in Canton.”</p><p>Sam scoffed again, clearly not pleased with that answer. <em>“Are you heading back home?”</em></p><p>There was a hint of something in Sam’s voice, a subtle edge that told Dean his brother was aware that there was a pretty good chance the answer to that question would turn out to be negative—honestly, it almost sounded like he was expecting it to be. Sam really did know him way too well.</p><p>Dean shook his head at the silent, empty room around him, taking a moment to swallow the lump that’d formed in his throat before he answered with a low, small, “No.”</p><p>There was silence on the other end of the call, and Dean really wasn’t sure how to read that pause. He felt his chest a bit tighter all of a sudden, felt guilt coiling in his gut once again, just like last night, but he forced himself to stay silent as he waited for a response.</p><p>Finally, a loud, heavy breath filled the line.</p><p>
  <em>“Dean, what are you doing?”</em>
</p><p>Sam didn’t sound frustrated or angry, which was a pretty big change from how he’d sounded last night. No, instead, he sounded… worn, tired, like he, too, didn’t actually want to be having this conversation right now, like this was all straining and exhausting for him too. Come to think of it, it probably was.</p><p>Or maybe the sleep deprivation was just catching up to him. He couldn’t have slept more than four, five hours at most, if he was already awake at this time.</p><p>Dean licked his dry lips, leaning back against the headboard, tilting his head backwards so that it knocked softly against the wood—once, twice. He closed his eyes, trying to decide on what to say, struggling to find the right words, but when those didn’t just magically slip into his mind during the handful of seconds that followed, all that came out of his mouth in the end was a low, weak, “I don’t know.”</p><p>All the frustration, all the anger that had filled him last night was long gone now, leaving him with only a tiredness that ran so deep, it seemed to reach all the way down to his freaking bones.</p><p>More silence followed, though this time, it seemed heavier, more tense, and Dean really wasn’t sure what to make of it. He opened his eyes, waiting, glancing across the room, over at where Miracle was still lying on the floor, only to find a pair of big, curious brown eyes focused on him.</p><p>Miracle didn’t move a muscle, though, even if on a normal day, he would’ve jumped up onto the bed the moment he realized Dean was awake.</p><p>
  <em>“Can you promise me something?”</em>
</p><p>Dean frowned, because that was definitely not something he’d been expecting to hear, and he hesitated to actually give his brother an answer. He wasn’t going to just agree to something without knowing what it was, so he swallowed with a click, before asking, “Promise what?” Mentally, he braced himself for whatever he would be hearing next. He honestly had no idea what that might turn out to be, and that scared him a little.</p><p>Sam hesitated for another moment, like he was choosing his next words carefully, thinking them over for a beat, before he finally asked, <em>“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?”</em></p><p>His brother’s tone was tentative, but heavy, loaded with meaning. Dean knew exactly what Sam meant to say with that, what he was <em>really </em>asking of Dean here, even he hadn’t actually spelled it out for him.</p><p>But there really was no need for him to do that.</p><p>Dean pressed his lips together, swallowing again. He forced the corner of his lips to quirk up in what turned out to be a weak, unconvincing smile. “I’m too old for that shit, and you know that.” He’d tried for a joking tone, but it fell flat, his words sounding empty and dull.</p><p>Sam huffed. <em>“Dean, you’re 41.”</em></p><p>Another smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though this one was simply sad, bittersweet, and not forced at all—just a small, thoughtless reaction. Honestly, Dean felt a lot older than that, with everything he’d been through, with all the shit he’d had thrown his way, all the weight he’d carried on his shoulders pretty much his whole life—not to mention that he’d spent forty years in Hell.</p><p><em>“Please, Dean,” </em>Sam added when he seemed to decide that his brother had been silent for too long. <em>“I know you’re not in your right mind right now. I just… I don’t know. I guess I just need to hear you say it.”</em></p><p>Dean’s tongue felt weird and heavy inside his mouth, like it was made out of lead. He swallowed a couple times, trying to figure out the best way to respond to that, but for a while, his mind came up blank. He <em>could </em>deflect, he thought—really, he almost did, even going so far as parting his lips and pulling in a breath, words dangling from the tip of his tongue, but he changed his mind at the very last second.</p><p>Sam’s face was still crystal clear in his mind—the sad, pleading look in his brother's eyes, the heavy frown in his brows, the strained tone of his voice, the hurt that Dean had been able to see so clearly painted all across Sam’s features.</p><p>Dean felt his heart clench at those memories, that same sharp, burning guilt from last night making itself known inside of him once again, pooling into his gut, growing more unbearable the longer that tense, loaded silence stretched on between them.</p><p>So he decided to be honest—or, well, as honest as he could afford to be right now. He decided against telling Sam that he wouldn’t try anything, that he’d learned his lesson, after all these years, after all the times they'd done something that was the exact same kind of stupid Sam was talking about right now, and it’d ended in tears and heartbreak—and blood, too. There was always a lot of blood.</p><p>Instead of saying any of that, what came out of Dean’s mouth next was a weak, broken, “What the hell could I even <em>do,</em> Sam?”</p><p>That wasn’t what Sam wanted to hear, and Dean knew that. It wasn’t a, ‘I know it’s a stupid fucking idea, and I’m not even thinking about it.’ Or a, ‘We’ve been down this road before, Sammy, and I know it always ends bad, no matter what. I’ve learned my lesson by now.’</p><p>No, it was a, ‘I’m not gonna do anything, Sammy, because there isn’t anything I <em>can </em>do.’</p><p>The silence that filled the line after that was deafening, heavier than any other that came before it, and it made Dean so uncomfortable that he shifted his weight on the bed, his entire body growing tense with expectation.</p><p>Until eventually, Sam let out a big, heavy breath on the other end.</p><p>
  <em>“How long are you gonna be gone?”</em>
</p><p>Dean let out a soundless, mental sigh of relief. He’d been fully expecting Sam to try to start another argument right now, and he was very glad to realize that his brother was apparently trying to avoid another fight.</p><p>Small miracles.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I just… I don’t know. I gotta work through some stuff, I guess. I… I think I just need to be on my own for a little while—you know, just me, Baby and the open road. And Miracle, I guess.”</p><p>There was another pause, before another small, unhappy sigh filled the line.</p><p><em>“Yeah,” </em>was Sam’s reply, though his voice sounded weird, strained. <em>“Yeah, okay. I get it. That’s better than you staying holed up in the Bunker all day, at least.” </em>He let out another sigh, and Dean could just see him closing his eyes and pinching his nose, trying to sort through his thoughts and figure out what else to say.<em> “Just… just be careful, alright? And text me from time to time, to let me know you’re okay.”</em></p><p>Dean nodded to no one in particular. “Sure thing, Sammy.”</p><p>He ended the call before his brother could try to prolong it somehow, then threw his phone onto the bed and let his head fall onto his hands. He pulled in a few deep, steadying breaths, even if he didn’t necessarily feel like he needed to calm himself down—he wasn’t worked up, or frustrated—no, he just… fuck, he just hated this. He hated everything about it—this tension between them, the way he could barely even have a conversation with his brother that didn’t make him want to run for the freaking hills.</p><p>But truth be told, that phone call <em>had </em>gone a lot better than Dean had expected it to. Sam seemed a lot more patient and understanding than he'd been yesterday, at least, and that was already something to be celebrated. He didn’t insist, didn’t try to push Dean until he got dangerously close to his breaking point, as if <em>that</em> might be enough to get him talking, and Dean was counting that as progress.</p><p>A tiny, curious little whine echoed through the air, snapping him out of his thoughts, and Dean raised his head, glancing across the room at Miracle, who was still staring at him with a confused, yet cautious look in his eyes.</p><p>When Dean didn’t move for the next handful of seconds, he whined again.</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Dean huffed, rolling his eyes and pushing at his covers so that he could swing his legs over the edge of the bed. His bare feet landed quietly onto the carpet, and he wiggled his toes, feeling the fabric rough and scratchy against his skin. “It’s way past your breakfast time. I know. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Once Miracle was properly fed, Dean threw on some clothes and left the room, intending to go out and get himself some breakfast as well—or, well, <em>lunch, </em>he supposed. He slipped inside the Impala and drove around for a while, eyes dancing over storefronts and signs, until eventually he found himself pulling up to a small, friendly-looking diner only a few blocks away from the motel.</p><p>The inside of the place was just as cozy as it’d looked to be on the inside, although the diner itself was pretty generic, unnaturally similar to the countless places of that same genre that he’d visited over the years, with its colorful booths and retro-style furniture. He chose a booth in the corner, far away from all the other patrons, and ordered himself some black coffee, plus a double bacon cheeseburger with extra fries, and then a big slice of pecan pie for dessert, just because he fucking <em>could.</em></p><p>If Sam were here, Dean knew the moose would be scolding him, trying to convince him to at least order a side salad, arguing that one day, Dean’s arteries <em>would </em>clog up and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.</p><p>But Sam <em>wasn’t </em>here, so… you know. Fuck that.</p><p>The waitress who served him was a little rude, and grumpy, and she both looked <em>and </em>acted like that diner was literally the last place she wanted to be on the entire freaking planet, but Dean chose to forgive her, just because his cheeseburger was truly fucking delicious. Their pecan pie wasn’t the best, so they lost a few points for that, but the coffee <em>was </em>good, and when Dean walked out of the place about an hour after he’d entered it, he felt mildly human again, with a healthy dose of caffeine fueling his steps.</p><p>Once he was back in his car, though, he found himself pausing, wondering what he should be doing next. He should probably leave Youngstown, even if he still had no idea where the hell he should be heading next. Maybe he could go down to Sioux Falls, pay Jody and the girls a visit? Maybe make a quick stop in Stillwater on the way there and see Donna, too? He and Sam had only talked to everyone on the phone after they’d come back—except for Eileen, of course—so Dean thought they were due for a few visits.</p><p>Sure, it was a pretty long drive from Ohio to Minnesota, but if he went back to the motel now and left right away, maybe he could make it to at least Wisconsin before he had to stop to sleep again. If he didn’t run into any problems during the drive, he was pretty sure could probably get to Minnesota by tomorrow evening.</p><p>Happy with his decision, Dean was just about to turn his key in the ignition to start up Baby’s engine when the sound of his phone ringing suddenly filled the air.</p><p>Dean rolled his eyes, dropping his hand so that he could dig around in his pockets, looking for his phone. He and Sam had literally <em>just</em> talked less than two hours ago. If this was really him calling to check on Dean again, he was definitely going to hear some—</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Dean frowned down at the screen, because Sam wasn't the one calling him right now—no, the number currently being displayed on the screen of his phone wasn’t saved in his contacts list, and Dean definitely didn’t recognize it.</p><p>He hesitated for a moment, but eventually slid his thumb over the screen to accept the call and brought the phone up, pressing it against his ear.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p><em>“Um, hi,” </em>said a voice that Dean didn’t recognize either, sounding pretty uncertain, almost awkward.<em> “Agent Bon Jovi?”</em></p><p>Oh, so this was a business call, then. Okay.</p><p>“Yeah, this is agent Bon Jovi,” Dean replied easily, voice quickly earning the serious, professional tone he used whenever he was working a case. Briefly, he tried to remember the last time he’d used <em>that</em> name. He honestly couldn’t remember, so he had absolutely no idea who this guy was, or where he could be calling him from.</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, okay. Well, look—I know this is gonna sound nuts, but I’m down in Austin and we’ve had a few bodies turn up, minus their hearts.”</em>
</p><p><em>Werewolves,</em> Dean’s mind instantly provided, though he obviously didn’t say that out loud. The moon cycle didn’t quite fit, but they could be pure breeds.</p><p>Or, well, it could be something else entirely, too.</p><p>Before he could offer any kind of reply, however, the guy added,<em> “Uh, a friend of mine—Donna Hanscum—she said you were the guy to call.”</em></p><p>Ah, okay, so Dean had probably never met the guy before, then. Donna had just given him Dean’s number.</p><p>Dean opened his mouth, his automatic, usual reply of, ‘Don’t worry, sir, I’ll be right there,’ just dangling from the tip of his tongue, but before it could actually slip past his lips, Dean paused, words dying in his throat. What was he supposed to do here? He wasn’t planning on taking any more jobs, but this guy had called <em>him. </em>Should he take it, then? Or pass it on to someone else? And what was he supposed to tell this guy, if he <em>wasn’t</em> going to take it? Should he just—</p><p>
  <em>“Uh, agent? You there?”</em>
</p><p>Dean blinked, then cleared his throat, straightening up in his seat. “Yes, yes. I'm sorry, I…” He still didn’t know what to do, but he couldn’t just leave the guy hanging. So he swallowed, pulled in a breath, and said, “I’m on my way.”</p><p><em>“Oh! Good, good,” </em>the voice replied, and he sounded pretty relieved. Dean guessed he was probably pretty spooked by the case, which was understandable, really. It wasn’t every day that you had to deal with a bunch maimed, heartless bodies showing up.</p><p>Well, when you weren’t a hunter, anyway.</p><p>
  <em>“When can I expect you?”</em>
</p><p>Dean blinked, then chose to reply with a quick, simple, “Soon,” before ending the call.</p><p>He dropped his phone onto the seat right next to him, then lowered his head onto his hands.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>What was he supposed to do now? Should he actually take this case? Or should he just try to pass it on to another hunter? That guy on the phone would probably realize Dean had sent someone else in his place, but he was sure that whoever he sent down to Austin could work around that little hiccup. All hunters knew how to lie through their freaking teeth, and they could think pretty fast on their feet—that was all part of the job description, after all.</p><p>Dean couldn’t just pass this case on to Sam, though—not when Eileen’s shoulder still wasn’t properly healed. Actually, now that he thought about it, Dean realized that he didn't even know if her arm was really broken or not. He hadn't stuck around for long enough to find out, and he hadn't thought to ask Sam when they'd spoken on the phone earlier, which kinda made Dean feel like an asshole now—but, well, he <em>did</em> have a lot on his mind right now, a lot of shit that he still had to work through, so maybe he got a pass.</p><p>But still, he would never forgive himself if he ended up being the reason for one or both of them getting hurt, because he’d sent a hunt their way that they just weren’t ready to take on.</p><p>No, if he passed on the job, it would have to be to someone else.</p><p>He started building up a list in his head, trying to remember names and faces of hunters who were still around and might be up for the job, until eventually he settled on one—Scott, one of the refugees from Apocalypse World who’d become a hunter after he’d crossed over to this world, and who was more than qualified to take on a simple werewolf case—or, well, whatever this job really turned to be.</p><p>Satisfied with his choice, Dean picked up his phone again, looking for Scott’s number in his contacts list. When he found it, he opened up his contact information and pressed call.</p><p>It rang five times, but the call eventually went through.</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah?” </em>
</p><p>Short and straight to the point, just like Dean remembered him.</p><p>“Hey, Scott,” Dean greeted, trying to sound at least a tiny bit friendly. “It’s Dean. Dean Winchester.”</p><p><em>“Yeah, no, I know,” </em>Scott answered, and he sounded a bit distracted. Dean was pretty sure he could hear typing in the background. <em>“What’s up? How’s Sam doing?”</em></p><p>Somehow, Dean managed to hold back a huff. Of course he’d ask about Sam. Dean had never been particularly close with the Apocalypse World hunters; Sam had been the one to really bond with them. But then again, Dean <em>had </em>been possessed by Michael during the time they were all settling in, so he definitely hadn’t spent as much time with them as Sam had.</p><p>“Sam’s fine,” he replied. “Just doing his thing, you know—eating healthy, being annoying, killing some monsters. The usual.”</p><p>Scott let out a small laugh at that. <em>“Sounds about right, yeah.”</em></p><p>When Scott didn’t add anything to that and a brief silence filled the line for a moment, Dean cleared his throat and straightened himself up in his seat. “Hey, listen, uh… I’ve got a hunt, down in Austin. Sounds like a werewolf case, but it could be something else. Moon cycle doesn’t really add up. I’m handling something up here in Ohio, though, so I can’t go take care of it myself. You up for it?”</p><p>Scott made a small, tiny sound, like he was clicking his tongue. <em>“Aw, man, sorry. I can’t. I’m caught up in this thing, up in Illinois. I thought it was a shapeshifter, but apparently, it’s not. Still got no clue what I’m actually dealing with, though. No shapeshifter I’ve ever seen ate their victims' <strong>eyeballs—only </strong>their eyeballs.”</em></p><p>Oh, wow, that was… new.</p><p>And gross.</p><p>“You need any help?” Dean asked without really thinking about it, more out of habit than anything else. He also had no idea what kind of monster Scott may be dealing with over there, but if he needed help…</p><p>
  <em>“Nah, man, I’m good. Already called in Trevor and Lizzie. They should be here tonight. We’ve got it covered.”</em>
</p><p>Dean nodded to himself, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved to hear that. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get someone else to go down to Austin, then.”</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, thanks, man. Sorry I couldn’t help.”</em>
</p><p>“No, don’t worry about it. It’s okay,” Dean hurried to reassure him. “Good luck with the… maybe-not-a-shifter, eyeball-eating thing.”</p><p>Scott huffed. <em>“Yeah, thanks. Take care, Dean.”</em></p><p>“Yeah, you too.”</p><p>After Dean ended the call, he just sat there for a while, thinking, wondering. He scrolled through his contacts list for a little while, taking in several names of other hunters who could also take the job down in Austin, but not actually settling on anyone. A weird mixture of doubt and guilt had settled in his mind after his conversation with Scott, and suddenly… well, he just couldn’t really decide on what to do.</p><p>If he called up another hunter, if he asked someone else to take the case in Austin, he might be pulling them away from something else—another hunt that they could be working somewhere, and that meant that more people might die, somewhere else. Not because Dean was busy with another case and couldn’t go down to Texas right now, or because he was too busy dealing with yet another Apocalypse—no, because he simply didn’t <em>want</em> to work that hunt.</p><p>And that’s where the guilt came in.</p><p>Could he even really make that choice, just… walking away from the life? What about all the people he wouldn’t save? All the people that would diebecause he just… chose <em>not </em>to save them? Was that even <em>his </em>choice to make?</p><p>His guilt only grew stronger the more he thought about it, churning like acid in his gut, leaving an unpleasant, sour taste in his mouth. Shame joined in soon after—at himself, for being so damn selfish, for even <em>considering </em>to put his own wishes over countless innocent people’s lives—people who had no knowledge of the kinds of creatures that went bump in the night, and that had no way to defend themselves against those monsters. People who actually <em>deserved </em>to be saved, who deserved to<em> live</em>.</p><p>Those people were all hunters’ responsibility, and that included Dean. He couldn’t just walk away from it, couldn't just turn his back on all the cases he came across, even if that was exactly what he wanted to do now—no, what he’d <em>always</em> wanted to do.</p><p>But he didn’t get to make that choice. He never had, his whole life, so why the hell should it be any different now?</p><p>Mind finally made up, Dean let out a big, heavy breath, feeling his shoulders fall dejectedly at his sides, drooping under the weight that had suddenly settled onto them. He swallowed drily, feeling his throat unusually dry, then dropped his phone back onto the seat and started up the car so he could carefully back out of the diner’s parking lot and head back to the motel.</p><p>
  <strong>*~*~*~*~*</strong>
</p><p>As it turned out, the job in Austin really was a werewolf case—just not a normal one, because apparently, <em>these</em> wolves had decided that they rather enjoyed killing people and eating their hearts at <em>all </em>times of the month, and not just during the full moon, just for the fun of it, like a bunch of fucking <em>psychos. </em>It did explain the moon cycle being off, of course, but still, Dean had never dealt with anything like this before, so he was a little thrown off by it.</p><p>In spite of that little odd detail, though, the hunt itself was simple enough. There were three wolves, and they were all pretty freaking sloppy at covering up their tracks, which led Dean to believe they might have been new—or they just didn’t give a fuck. Either way, all he had to do was figure out where they were hiding out, break into the place unnoticed, and then shoot them full of silver bullets, making sure to hit their hearts at least twice, just for good measure.</p><p>And then it was done—simple as that.</p><p>He didn’t get out of it completely unscathed, though. He got thrown across the room once and landed on his leg wrong while he’d tried to break his fall, so he’d walked out of there with a bit of a limp once it was all said and done. Also, one of the damn wolves had come at him with her claws while he’d still been fighting another one, and the damn thing had actually managed to deliver some pretty deep, nasty cuts to his left shoulder, producing four ugly tears on his skin that stretched a few inches down to his chest.</p><p>So that’s how Dean found himself here, holed up in his motel room in the outskirts of Austin, Texas, holding a bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand, tipping it onto a cloth so that he could at least try to clean up those gashes. He’d cleaned most of the blood away from the cuts, and he'd already stitched them up—which had been the very <em>opposite</em> of fun, by the way—but he still needed to make sure the cuts were clean. The last thing he needed right now was to have them get infected.</p><p>He hissed and cursed as he worked, gritting his teeth together at the burn of the alcohol as it touched the bloody, ripped tissue inside the cuts, but he didn’t allow that to stop him, and he spent about twenty minutes tending to the gashes, cleaning them as thoroughly as he possibly could, then covering them up with gauze and bandages, because the damn things were <em>still</em> bleeding. He’d need to change those bandages regularly, and clean those cuts again every time he did it.</p><p>He definitely wasn’t looking forward to it.</p><p>Miracle let out a few worried whines from the other side of the room, but he didn’t dare to come close to Dean while the hunter tended to his wounds. No, he just kept watching from a safe distance, those big, pleading brown eyes displaying something that looked way too much like concern, which was pretty much heartbreaking, really.</p><p>So once Dean was finally done with dealing with his cuts, he smiled weakly at the puppy, patting the spot beside him on the bed, trying to call the dog over.</p><p>Miracle straightened up, raising his head, ears perking up, but he didn’t immediately get up from the floor.</p><p>So Dean patted the bed again, letting out a low, “Come here, boy. Come on.”</p><p>That was enough to get Miracle moving, and the dog let out a tiny little excited bark as it shot up from the floor and darted across the room, launching himself up in the air as he jumped up onto the bed. Dean couldn’t help but smile at the display, hands instantly moving to pet him. He knew he’d been neglecting the poor puppy these past couple days, and he was very intent on making up for it now.</p><p>“I’m sorry I haven’t been giving you much attention lately, buddy,” Dean muttered, running his hands through Miracle’s fur. The dog simply panted in response, staring up at him with those big, excited brown eyes, his tongue hanging from his mouth. “It’s just… it’s been a rough couple of days for me.”</p><p>Well, it’d been a rough <em>month</em> at this point, but the past couple of days had been exceptionally bad.</p><p>He just pet Miracle for a while, but eventually it registered in his mind that he was still holding a mostly-full bottle of his whiskey in his hand, and while it was the cheap, convenience store kind of whiskey, it was still booze, and Dean figured he couldn’t really afford to be picky right now.</p><p>The first mouthful of whiskey had him wincing, because this shit tasted <em>bad, </em>but he still powered through, taking a few more swigs until he could finally feel that familiar heat rising within him, which made it easier to swallow it down.</p><p>“You know, I… I didn’t plan on coming here,” Dean said, glancing down at Miracle. Even if the dog couldn’t actually understand him, his eyes were wide and focused, staring up at Dean as though he was actually hanging on to the hunter’s every word, and that prompted Dean to keep talking. “I didn’t <em>want</em> to come here, but I still did. I worked that hunt, saved a few people, and now I’m…”</p><p>He swallowed, raising his bottle up to his lips again. His other hand kept petting Miracle, running gently through the dog’s fur. “It didn’t use to feel like this. Really, most of my life, doing this, it… it felt good—to see the people I saved, to know that <em>I’m </em>the reason they’ll get to keep living. And I mean, it still feels good, I guess. I’m still glad that those people are safe, but I don’t feel… accomplished, I guess? I just don’t… I don’t feel like I actually did something good. I feel… I feel nothing.”</p><p>That really was the best way to describe it—not just what Dean was feeling right now, but how he’d been feeling for the past few weeks. Sure, he had his ups and downs, had a few moments of distraction, and others where the sadness, the pain he could feel inside of him would take over, burning hot and bright like a raging, uncontrollable forest fire, but when those alternating bouts of relief and despair were done, in those calm, eventless moments that he had in-between, Dean was left feeling… lost. During those moments, he felt nothing.</p><p>He felt empty.</p><p>And wasn’t that the most ironic thought he could possibly have right now?</p><p>“And you know what the worst part of this is?” Dean continued, voice sounding broken and rough. He’d stopped petting Miracle by then, letting his hand fall to rest on the mattress right beside him. “It’s feeling like… like there’s nothing I can do. I just feel… helpless. Useless. As it turns out, that’s… that’s just what I am.”</p><p>The next swig he took didn’t feel so bad, and he could feel a gentle warmth curling in his gut, numbing him to the unpleasant taste of that cheap, crappy whiskey, clouding his mind bit by bit.</p><p>But he still kept talking, because he felt like he <em>had </em>to. He needed to get this off his chest, and since he couldn’t exactly talk to anyone about this, the dog would have to do.</p><p>“I couldn’t save Cas, when the Empty came. I couldn’t do <em>anything. </em>All these years, I always thought I was good at this sort of thing—you know, acting quickly, just… reacting. I’ve done it so many times before. I’ve always trusted my instincts, and they rarely actually let me down. But that day, I just… I couldn’t move. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t <em>do </em>anything. I just… I just <em>stood </em>there—while Cas was… while he…”</p><p>He couldn’t get the words out. He felt like his throat was closing up, like there wasn’t enough air in his lungs to actually form those words. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it, because if he <em>did, </em>if he actually put what’d happened that day into <em>words—</em></p><p>“And then after he pushed me out of the way, I… I still did nothing. I just sat there. I just <em>watched </em>it all happen. I just watched the Empty—or the Shadow, or whatever the fuck that thing’s called—I just watched it slide into the room and… then it just…”</p><p>He closed his eyes, feeling them burn, stinging sharply as tears quickly gathered in his eyes. He swallowed once, twice, trying to get rid of the lump that had formed in his throat, but that really didn’t do much to help, and when he spoke again, his voice came out choked, raspy and hoarse.</p><p>“I watched him die,” he whispered, letting his eyes slide open again, though he moved them now, looking away from Miracle, focusing them on a spot on the wall across the room. “I watched him die, and I did nothing to stop it. And now I… I can’t do anything to save him either.”</p><p>He took two swigs at once this time, barely even pausing in-between them to breathe, tilting his head back as he tipped the bottle and let its contents slide into his mouth and down his throat. It didn’t really burn anymore as it went down. He could feel his hands growing a little numb, his mind growing fuzzy, lighter than usual. Maybe that was why his tongue was getting so loose.</p><p>“I can’t do anything. I mean, I… I tried—I <em>did</em>. I tried to find something—<em>anything. </em>I read up on all the lore I could find, looked through every book that I could get my hands on—and <em>fuck, </em>there were a lot of them. Just <em>so many fucking books.” </em>He shook his head, grimacing, then took another gulp from his bottle. “But apparently, if you’re not God<em>, </em>or Death, it’s just fucking impossible to pull an angel from the Empty.”</p><p>He let out a low, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “But that shouldn’t be a problem, should it? Jack’s literally God now. He’s the most powerful being in all of existence, in the entire freaking Universe, and he could probably bring Cas back with a snap of his fingers, but he just… he’s just not doing it, and I don’t get <em>why.”</em></p><p>He looked down at his bottle, noticing how it was already nearly half-empty. He turned it in his hand, watching as the amber-colored liquid swirled around with the movement.</p><p>“After that day, we… we still needed to fight. We still needed to defeat Chuck, and I… focused on that. Having a… a mission, a <em>purpose—</em>it kept me coherent, I guess. It kept me going. It gave me something to do, something else to think about. We needed to get it done, so I kept my head in the game, through all of it—or, well, through most of it, anyway. Lucifer did throw me a fucking curveball, with that damn phone call.”</p><p>He’d been doing a fairly good job of keeping his head in the game up until then, of burying everything down as deep as it would go so that he could actually get things <em>done, </em>but seeing Cas’ name on the screen of his phone, hearing his <em>voice—</em>and not only that, but to hear him say he was alive and <em>hurt</em>…</p><p>Fuck, Dean hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t even <em>questioned </em>it, even if he really should have. He should have considered it could be a trap—that it was <em>most likely </em>a trap, really, but he hadn’t, because in that moment, all rational thought just flew out the freaking window, and the next thing Dean knew was that he was jumping up to his feet and running—out of the kitchen and across the hall, then up those stairs, taking two steps at a time with his heart beating loud and frantic in his throat, because <em>Cas was there</em>, on the other side of that door, and he was hurt, he was <em>hurt, </em>and Dean needed to—</p><p>Well. You know how that turned out.</p><p>“I tried with Chuck, too—offered to give him the ending he’d always wanted, but that didn’t work either. It was just a shot in the dark, I know, but… I still had to try, even if I wouldn’t be there to see it, if he actually brought Cas back. But Cas would be alive, and that’s all that mattered. As long as he and everyone else were fine, I just… I didn’t care about what happened to me. Honestly, I… I still don’t.”</p><p>Another swig of whiskey filled his mouth and rolled down his throat—this one bigger than the others, less careful. His tongue was starting to feel a bit funny in his mouth, heavier than it should be, but he didn’t care. He wanted to keep going. He really needed to get this off his chest, before he lost the nerve to do it. If he didn’t do this now, he never would.</p><p>“But then Jack absorbed Chuck’s powers, and he was suddenly <em>God, </em>and I… I thought—” A weird sound escaped his throat, and his voice failed with it. It sounded like a hiccup, but he wasn’t sure. “I thought he’d do it. I mean, at first, I thought… I thought he was gonna come back with us, to the Bunker. I don't know why, I just... I'm just stupid like that, I guess. But I really thought he was gonna go home with us, so I… I didn’t say anything. I figured we could talk once we got back. He wasn’t Chuck, so I thought I didn’t need to rush. I thought we’d go home, sit down in our kitchen, eat supper or some shit and… and then I’d ask him about Cas, and he’d say, ‘Of course I’ll bring him back. How could I not?’ And that would be it. Problem solved. Just like that.”</p><p>Another bitter, humorless laugh broke out of his mouth, but this one came out louder, an ugly, broken sound that seemed weirdly foreign to his ears.</p><p>“But guess what?” He shook his head, still staring at that same spot on the wall across the room. “That just wasn’t in his plans. No, he… he just fucked off to another planet or somethin', because he wants to be ‘hands-off’. But before he left, I just… I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t… I couldn’t say it, because okay, he wasn’t going back with us, but there was just no way that he wasn’t gonna do it, right? There was just no way that he would leave his own <em>dad</em> in the fucking Empty, right?”</p><p>His shoulders rose and fell in a weak, halfhearted shrug. “I still had hope, those first few days. Hope that I would wake up, walk over to the kitchen to get some coffee, and Cas would be there, just … having a chat with Sam and Eileen about fuckin' meerkats or somethin'. Or that he’d just let himself in, stride right into the Bunker looking like nothing happened. I really thought—”</p><p>His voice failed again, and he had to swallow a few more times until he actually managed to get it working again.</p><p>“But then actual days passed, and none of that happened, and I… that’s when I prayed to Jack. I got drunk, and I prayed, because I didn’t <em>get </em>it. I didn’t want to believe that he would actually just…” He shook his head, wincing, words dying in his throat before he could let them out. “But that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s not bringing Cas back. And he told me that through a fucking note. He couldn’t even say it to my fucking <em>face.”</em></p><p>His next swig was quick, his movements growing sharper, more careless as a spark of anger suddenly made itself known inside of him.</p><p>“Jack was the one who woke Cas up last time. He wanted Cas back so badly that he actually managed to reach him, all the way in the fuckingEmpty, but now… he’s just crossing his arms and sitting this one out. He’s got enough juice to do whatever the fuck he <em>wants, </em>but he just checked out on us, and it just… it just doesn’t make any <em>sense.”</em></p><p>He raised a hand, running it over his face, feeling the roughness of his beard scratching against his palm.</p><p>“And even we <em>could </em>wake Cas up somehow, like Nick did with Lucifer, he can’t just walk out of there. The Shadow won’t let that happen, and it won’t send him back either. It’s not just gonna let him go, because of that <em>damn fucking deal.”</em></p><p>He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel a headache coming on, which didn’t make sense, because he was definitely pretty buzzed right now, and nowhere <em>near</em> the point where his head should start hurting.</p><p>“He’s gone,” he whispered, letting his hand fall back to rest on his thigh. His voice sounded strained and hoarse, like he’d tried to gargle with freaking rocks or something. He blinked a few times, feeling his eyes filling up again, and he had to pull in a couple of deep, shaky breaths before he could speak again—which didn't really do much to help. Every breath he took felt useless, like it just wasn't enough. His lungs were burning, like they were filling up with water, like he just couldn't get enough air in them, no matter how hard he tried, and he was suffocating, drowning slowly—<em>so very slowly</em>. “He’s gone, and he’s not coming back—not this time, and I just… I gotta get used to that.”</p><p>He lifted his bottle up a few inches, but then winced and brought it back down, shaking his head. He turned to look at Miracle for the first time in at least a couple minutes, only to realize that the dog was still staring right at him, with those big, inquiring brown eyes of his.</p><p>“He died for me.” It hurt, to push those words out of his mouth, even more than it had when he’d said them to Sam. His chest hurt so much that someone might as well have carved through it and pulled out his freaking heart, leaving behind nothing more than an empty, bloody, gaping hole. “No matter why or how it happened, the bottom line is—he died for me, so that I could <em>live. </em>So I need to do exactly that. I need to get my shit together and just… just move on.”</p><p>He was starting to really hate those two words, but no matter how much he dreaded the meaning that they carried, no matter how much pain they brought him every single time they echoed in his mind, he just couldn’t run away from them.</p><p>“Sam got his happy ending. He got his girl back, and he’s free to do whatever he wants—and for some reason, he’s deciding to keep <em>hunting, </em>but… well, that’s his decision, not mine. If that’s what he wants to do, then that’s <em>his </em>choice, and that’s what matters. That’s what we were fighting for, anyway. To have the freedom to <em>make </em>that choice.”</p><p>He pulled in another breath, then let it out slowly, in the form of a tired, weary sigh. It came out even shakier than he expected.</p><p>“But that’s not happening to me. I’m not getting a happy ending, because really, why the fuck should I? I never get what I want—ever. And you know, you’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I just… I don’t get <em>why. </em>Why do I have to sacrifice <em>everything? </em>Why can’t I just, for once in my damn life, get <em>one</em> good thing?”</p><p>His voice was louder now, trembling, breaking around every word. He was shaking a little, too, and his words were dragging a bit on his tongue, and not just because of the alcohol.</p><p>The first tear slid down his cheek, but he made no move to brush it off.</p><p>“I mean, I get it. If we don't do something about it, if we don't fight for those people, for this <em>world</em>, then who's gonna do it? If Sam and I had just given up, the world wouldn't even be here now, but I... I just want a break. This has been my life for as long as I can remember, and I'm so fucking tired of it. I'm just so tired, of <em>everything</em>. But I’m <em>trying—</em>really, I <em>am. </em>I’m trying to live, to keep going, or else Cas died for <em>nothing, </em>but I… I just don’t know what to <em>do.”</em></p><p>More tears followed the first, making up a steady stream as they slid down his cheeks, leaving wet, glistening trails in their wake.</p><p>“I don’t know what to do with my life. I mean, I don’t really wanna hunt anymore, but can I <em>really </em>keep away from it? That’s the only thing I know how to do. I did consider the… mechanic thing, but could I even do that? I’ve never had a job—not a real one, anyway, so could I really do it? Act <em>normal? </em>Just go to work, clock in, do what I’m supposed to do, then just clock out and head home at the end of the day? When I <em>know</em> what’s out there? When I know that there are people out there, dying because I stepped away… And all those deaths—they're gonna be on me, so can I really do that? Can I <em>live</em> with that guilt?”</p><p>He raised a hand, running it over his face, trying to get rid of some of the tears, of the wetness that he could feel clinging to his skin.</p><p>“Every day I wake up, and I… I feel lost, numb. I've worked two hunts, after Chuck, but I feel… I feel empty. It feels wrong—<em>everything </em>feels wrong, and I don’t know how to make it better. And that just makes me wonder… is it always gonna be like this? Every day, for the rest of my life? This… limbo, that I feel like I’m stuck on? Because if it is, if it doesn’t get better, then… what’s even the point?”</p><p>He pulled in another shaky breath, and a low, pitiful sound escaped his throat when he let it out. It sounded like a mixture between a sob and a whimper.</p><p>“What’s even the fucking <em>point?” </em>he repeated, staring at Miracle right in the eye, but of course the dog didn’t provide him with an answer.</p><p>That night, for the first time, he let Miracle sleep on the bed with him. He’d had a pretty strict rule about that up until now, and he definitely didn’t plan on repeating that particular occurrence anytime soon, but that night, when he’d lied down to sleep, with his heart feeling tight and painful inside his chest and a constant stream of tears leaking from his eyes, with his thoughts hazy and messy because of the alcohol, when Miracle whined and moved closer to him, cuddling up to his side, Dean just hadn’t had the heart—or the energy—to push him away.</p><p>
  <strong>*~*~*~*~*</strong>
</p><p>He left Austin the next day, once his hangover finally let up and he felt well enough to drive, which only happened around mid-afternoon. He didn’t get too far, though, and ended up stopping in Amarillo later that same day, where he planned to stay for a little while—maybe a couple days, maybe more. His plans to go up to either Sioux Falls or Stillwater were long gone from his mind by then.</p><p>The next couple of days were a bit of a blur. All Dean did was lie around in his motel room in nothing but his underwear, drinking booze, eating a truly unholy amount of rubbery pizza and watching an unhealthy amount of Spanish soap operas just because he fucking could and there was no one there to judge him for it.</p><p>Oh, and he also took care of his wounds, cleaning up his cuts and changing the bandages whenever he deemed necessary, because he was a grown-ass man and he still remembered how to take care of himself, thank you very much.</p><p>Sam would text him a few times throughout the day, but he never called, which Dean really appreciated. It made it easier to lie to him. If Sam heard his voice right now, he’d see right through Dean’s bullshit, and then he would try to get Dean to <em>talk </em>again, which just wouldn’t do. But this way, Dean could just type up a quick message saying he was fine, that he was feeding himself properly like the good, functioning adult that he was, and that his brother didn’t need to worry.</p><p>He knew Sam wasn’t buying any of it, though, but it wasn’t like Dean really expected him to.</p><p>On the fourth day after he worked the werewolf hunt, though, something different happened—something that broke that dull, unexciting routine that Dean had found himself falling into during the past few days. He’d been minding his own business, watching an incredibly silly, yet particularly entertaining episode of <em>Scooby Doo,</em> when it happened.</p><p>A bright flash of light suddenly washed over the room without a warning, and Dean was already moving less than a second after it happened, grabbing the gun he always kept hidden under his pillow and jumping up to his feet in a flash. He tried to hold back a wince when his right leg protested, shifting his weight so that he was favoring the left one. Still, he was ready to fire at any second, at even the smallest hint of a threat. His entire body was tense and ready for a fight, although he <em>was </em>aware that he must look a little ridiculous right now, with his rumpled hair and unkept beard, not to mention that he was currently wearing nothing but a pair of bright green underwear that he almost never wore—precisely because he thought it made him look freaking ridiculous.</p><p>As soon as that light vanished and Dean took in the sight of the figure who was now standing right at the center of the room, though, he let out a low curse, dropping his gun and quickly reaching for the sheets he'd pushed away in his haste, pulling at them and holding them up in front of his body in an attempt to cover himself up and try to salvage at least <em>some </em>of his dignity.</p><p>On the other side of the room, Miracle had perked up, and he was now staring up at the newcomer in mild alarm, but he made no move to get up from the floor. Dean was just glad that he didn't start barking up a storm.</p><p>“Jack?” Dean asked, a heavy frown settling in his brows, voice filled with surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?”</p><p>And yeah, okay, there was also a hint of annoyance there, and his tone <em>was</em> a little sharper than normal, but he <em>was</em> still pretty pissed at Jack, for countless reasons that he definitely didn’t need to list right now, so he was pretty sure he got a pass.</p><p>In fact, as his shock faded and his heart started to slow down inside his chest, gradually returning to its normal rhythm, Dean realized that he was actually glad Jack was here now, because he really needed to have some <em>words</em> with him.</p><p>The nephilim-turned-God was wearing the exact same clothes from the last time Dean had seen him, and he looked exactly the same, too—except for… well, there was just something… <em>different</em> about him, on the way he carried himself, or maybe it was just that… that <em>feeling</em> that had suddenly filled the room, like the air was suddenly charged with static or something, carrying this raw energy that Dean couldn’t really explain, but that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.</p><p>Dean figured that was the whole God thing, so he chose to ignore it for now.</p><p>Jack seemed completely unfazed by Dean’s current state of undress. He simply gave the hunter a flat, mildly-confused look—one that was painfully familiar to Dean. So he hadn’t changed <em>that</em> much, it seemed.</p><p>After a beat, Jack finally announced, “I need your help.”</p><p>Dean’s frown deepened a little. He adjusted the sheet around himself, making sure that his entire body was covered. “My help? Jack, you’re literally <em>God</em> now. What the hell do you need my help with?”</p><p>Jack paused for a second, considering Dean for another moment, before he finally provided, “I think I found a way.”</p><p>Oh, okay, that definitely cleared things up. Thanks, Jack.</p><p>Dean held himself back from huffing in annoyance, and instead simply shook his head. “A way?” he questioned, “A way to do what?”</p><p>The look in Jack’s eyes changed, shifting into something more… serious, but Dean wasn’t sure how to read that change. Jack seemed to consider his answer for a moment, and his gaze was… careful, calculating, like he was thinking his words over very carefully, weighing them in his mind—which, well, wasn’t exactly anything new. The kid sure did that a lot.</p><p>Still, the words that he said next were definitely <em>not </em>something Dean had been expecting to hear, and as soon as they were out in the open, Dean felt like time had stopped around them, like the entire world had suddenly halted to a freaking stop, freezing completely in its axis. He felt like all the air had left his lungs all at once, but he just couldn’t pull in another breath, because his body just wasn’t responding to him anymore.</p><p>All of a sudden, he couldn’t fucking <em>breathe.</em></p><p>“A way to get Cas out of the Empty.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The funny thing about this story is that I started writing it with the mindset that I just wanted to completely negate the existence of the finale, and the first draft I had for this chapter actually featured a completely different hunt. But for some reason, that didn't really work. I was never really happy with it, and I just couldn't figure out <em>why.</em></p><p>The thing is—one of the things I love to do the most when I'm writing canon compliant (and if anyone here reads <strong>A Drop in the Ocean</strong>, then you probably know this already), is bending the episodes to make them fit into the story, to fix the plot holes and turn it into something new, but still keeping as much of the original episode as I possibly can, still keeping the story as close as possible to canon, because I feel like that makes it more real, somehow.</p><p>So, that's what I tried to do here. I really didn't plan on having any elements from 15x20 in this story at first, but this chapter only felt right to me after I added whatever I could from that episode, and surprisingly, that actually worked—or at least I feel like it did. I hope I did a good job of fixing that ridiculous mess of a finale. Personally, I'm pretty happy with how my version of it turned out, and I hope you guys liked it too.</p><p>From now on, though, I'm doing whatever I want. ;)</p><p>-</p><p>Next up: Jack has a plan, but not everyone's happy with it. Will it work? Well, they don't know that for sure, but that's definitely not enough to stop Dean from trying.</p><p>I <em>really</em> love comments, by the way. Just wanna throw that out there. ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First of all, I'd like to thank everyone for the all the love and support that I've been getting on this fic. Thank you for all the subs, all the kudos, all the lovely comments! This fic was added to <strong>The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection</strong> only six days after I posted it, which is just absolutely amazing! Seriously, thank you all so much.&lt;33</p><p>Secondly, I've added a <strong>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</strong> warning to this fic, but there's no reason to worry about it! I just feel like I may be pushing it a little bit by replaying Cas' death over and over again (it'll happen a few more times), and with Cas' rescue from the Empty... well, let's just say that some things that happen in the next few chapters could maybe be interpreted as a temporary Major Character Death, so I just wanna be safe. But really, there's no reason to worry too much about that warning. ;)</p><p>Warning: This chapter contains a lot of talk about grief and suicide—including Dean's "death" in 13x05. He's still in a pretty bad place mentally. It also contains a few referenced, minor character deaths.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“There’s just something I don’t get.”</p><p>Dean raised his head and sent a glance over at where his brother was currently sitting at the map table, with his arms resting on the glass surface right in front of him. Eileen was sitting in the chair right next to him, but Dean had elected to remain standing for this conversation, and so he'd parked himself right by the big open archway that separated the war room from the library, his back pressed against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest.</p><p>Jack was standing on other side of the room, with the map table separating him from Sam and Eileen. His posture was pretty much flawless, back unnaturally straight, shoulders perfectly leveled. He looked pretty stiff and awkward, just like he always did, like he still wasn’t sure how to be comfortable in his own body, like he wasn't quite used to being a three-year-old stuck in the body of a twenty-something-year-old just yet.</p><p>Dean still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that the kid was actually <em>God </em>now<em>.</em></p><p>Jack focused his eyes on Sam, his eyebrows rising slightly, a clear question in his eyes.</p><p>“Chuck brought Lucifer back,” Sam clarified. “Hell, he brought <em>Cas</em> back a couple times, too. And they were both in the Empty all those times, which means that just pulling an angel from there <em>is</em> possible. So why can’t you just… do <em>that</em> now?”</p><p>Jack considered his next words for a second, as though organizing his thoughts. He gave Sam a slow, careful nod before he answered, “I <em>can</em> pull angels out of the Empty now—I’m aware of that. But in this case, it’s… it’s different. The problem is the entity that rules over the Empty—the… Shadow, it won’t let me have <em>Cas. </em>It seems... very determined on keeping him there.”</p><p>Those words hurt, like a knife being buried right into his chest, stabbing at his heart, even if Dean had been doing his damn best to keep his emotions in check, to reel everything in, to not let the weak, flickering spark of hope that’d burst to life inside his chest the moment Jack had showed up in his motel room back in Texas and announced that he might have found a way to get Cas out of the Empty grow any more than it should.</p><p>He needed to know what they were dealing with before he allowed himself to get too hopeful. He needed to hear what Jack had to say, his <em>plan. </em>He needed to know their odds, if there was any chance that whatever brilliant idea Jack had apparently come up with could actually work.</p><p>Because if Dean let himself believe, if he let himself <em>hope, </em>and it didn’t <em>work… </em>to have the rug pulled out from under him like that, to have his hopes crushed like a fucking bug, after allowing himself to <em>feel </em>again, for the first time in a <em>month…</em></p><p>It might actually kill him at this point.</p><p>Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Because of their deal,” he guessed, voice coming out low and gruff. He did his best to keep his tone deadpan, even and emotionless, without giving anything away—and he had to admit, he was pretty proud of how those words came out, of how steady they sounded. He was honestly a little surprised.</p><p>Jack moved his eyes to him, offering another slow, cautious nod. “Yes. Exactly.”</p><p>Briefly, Dean wondered if Jack had found out about the deal back then, when Cas had first made it, or if it was news to him too, if he’d only found out about it now that Cas was gone. They hadn't really talked about it, after... well, after everything that happened with Billie, but Dean's guess was that Jack had probably known about it all along, since Cas had literally made that deal to save <em>him.</em></p><p>That particular thought had the tiny flame of anger that Dean had been feeling toward Jack ever since the day he’d left the hunter that damn note burning just a tad bit brighter inside his chest.</p><p>“Deal?” Sam frowned, eyes flitting back and forth between Dean and Jack, like he couldn’t decide which one of them he should be focusing his gaze on right now. “What deal?”</p><p>A tense, heavy silence took over the room once that question was out in the open. Dean could feel his brother’s eyes on his face, but he refused to meet Sam’s gaze, and instead chose to let his own gaze fall to the floor, clenching his jaw a couple times as he did it.</p><p>Fortunately, Jack seemed to take pity on him—or, well, maybe he just figured that he might as well explain, since it definitely didn’t look like Dean had any plans to do it himself.</p><p>“When I died—the first time—the Empty… it came for me, in Heaven. It wanted me to go with it, because even though I was half human, I was also half angel, and the Shadow believed that meant it had a claim over me. And I was going to go with it, to the Empty, but… Cas didn’t let that happen. He… he made a deal, so that the Shadow wouldn’t take me. He begged the Empty to take him instead, but it didn’t agree to it—at least not right away. The Shadow only agreed to take him later on, when he… once he found happiness. It said it would wait, because it wanted him to have one moment of true happiness, one second of peace, with the sun shining on his face, and then it would take him away forever.”</p><p>Oh, okay, so Jack really <em>had</em> known about that damn deal all along, and he just hadn’t bothered to tell them about it. If he had, maybe they could have found a way to break it, or at least do something about it—<em>anything. </em>Maybe they could have found a way to save<em>—</em></p><p>Well, but that didn’t really matter now, did it?</p><p>Dean’s heart suddenly felt about a thousand times heavier inside his chest, like it was made out of lead, and it clenched painfully at every single word that left Jack’s mouth, making it a little harder to breathe. He kept his head down while Jack talked, staring at a particular spot on the floor right in front of his boots, but when Jack seemed to be done talking and a heavy silence replaced the sound of his voice, Dean forced himself to raise his head again.</p><p>Jack was looking right at him.</p><p>“You said Cas summoned the Empty to save you,” he recalled. “I’m assuming that’s what happened, then? He fulfilled his end of the deal?”</p><p>Dean felt his throat growing unnaturally dry at that question, but somehow, he managed to make himself nod. He honestly didn’t trust his voice enough to try speaking right now, so that was the only response that he allowed himself to offer.</p><p>And because even if he was <em>God</em> now, Jack was still just as oblivious to social cues, still just as utterly incapable of picking up on another person’s discomfort as he’d been a month ago, he went ahead and asked yet another question, just to make this whole thing even <em>worse</em> for Dean.</p><p>“What was it?” He sounded genuinely curious, his eyes all wide and innocent, like a baby deer. “His happiness? What could have possibly made him happy, when you were both about to be killed by Death?”</p><p>Jack had this open, searching, almost begging look in his eyes, along with a curious, confused frown in his brows, but it was the way that he fucking tilted his head to the side that nearly killed Dean right then and there. He actually had to look away as soon as he saw it, wincing when he felt a sharp stab of pain in his heart.</p><p>Once he finally got himself under control, Dean raised his head again and chanced another glance over at Sam, only to find his brother staring at him with confusion written all over his face, a heavy frown in his brows. His gaze was so focused, so intense, that he might as well be trying to read Dean’s mind, desperately attempting to put together a puzzle that he didn’t have all the pieces to—but clearly, that wasn’t enough to stop him from trying.</p><p>There was a question in Sam’s eyes, too, but Dean couldn’t answer it—not even if he actually wanted to. So he simply closed his eyes, shaking his head subtly, minutely, before he tilted it backwards, pressing it against the wall right behind him. He could only hope that Sam would understand what he’d meant to convey with that.</p><p>And fortunately, he did. Sam could be pretty freaking oblivious sometimes, but most of the time, he really could read Dean like an open book.</p><p>“I don’t think that matters right now, Jack,” Sam said, and his voice sounded a little strained, but it was still strong, certain. He might not know why exactly Dean couldn’t talk about this now, but he could still tell when Dean was being pushed too far. “What really matters is figuring out what we can do about it <em>now.”</em></p><p>Dean opened his eyes again, just in time watch his brother shift in his chair, straightening up a bit and squaring his shoulders, his eyes focused solely on Jack. The look Dean found in them was intense, focused, his jaw wound tight, body tense. Sam looked… determined, unyielding, like he just wasn't willing to take no for an answer, like he was silently daring Jack to argue with him on this.</p><p>Dean couldn’t be more grateful for it.</p><p>“So, you can’t just pull Cas out of the Empty because of his deal,” Sam surmised, before anyone had a chance to say anything else.</p><p>Jack didn’t seem too happy that his questions had gone unanswered. A small, unhappy frown settled in his brows, and he still stared at Dean for another long, tense moment, but fortunately, he didn’t try to push any more, didn't try to get anything else out of Dean. Instead, once that silence had stretched on for about ten seconds too long, he finally turned his head to look at Sam, giving him another slow nod.</p><p>“Yes,” he answered. “I went to the Empty, to talk to the Shadow, but it… it won’t let him go. It’s keeping him hidden from me, and even if I try to find him and take him without the Shadow agreeing to it… well, I can’t do that—not without consequences, because that would mean I would be breaking their deal, if it really was fulfilled. And I… I can’t do that. There are rules, that I need to abide to—cosmic rules, I guess you could say. And breaking a deal with an entity like the Empty goes against those rules. I can’t do it myself.”</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry, Dean. I can’t.</em>
</p><p>Dean’s eyebrows rose at that, just as Jack’s words from three weeks ago, the ones he’d left written on that note and that had felt so impersonal at the time, that’d filled Dean with so much anger and <em>despair</em>—they came back to him then, echoing loudly inside the hunter’s head, repeatedly bouncing off the walls of his skull and making his head spin a little.</p><p>Was this what Jack had meant, back then? Not that he wouldn't bring Cas back because he didn’t want to interfere, but that he actually <em>couldn’t </em>do it? Because if that was true, then going to the Empty to try to get Cas back must have been one of the first things Jack had done after the whole thing with Chuck, considering he’d left that note for Dean just three days after the final showdown.</p><p>Apparently, Dean didn’t actually have as many reasons to be mad at Jack as he’d thought he did.</p><p>But he was still pissed that Jack hadn’t told them about Cas’ deal.</p><p>“So somebody’s gotta do it for you, then?” Sam asked. “Is that what you’re saying here?”</p><p>Jack simply nodded.</p><p>Okay. Okay, they could deal with that, right? If Jack zapped him and Sam over to the Empty, then maybe they could—</p><p>“Can humans even go to the Empty?” Sam asked, apparently following the same train of thought as Dean, though his own feelings on the matter seemed to be a bit different than his brother’s.</p><p>Dean almost rolled his eyes, and he barely managed to hold back an annoyed huff. Why did Sam always have to try to be the voice of freaking reason?</p><p>Jack paused for a second to think about his answer, before he admitted, “I’m… not sure.” His words were slow, careful as they slid off his tongue, carrying an obvious hint of uncertainty that was impossible to miss. “I don’t think that’s ever been done before.”</p><p>That wasn’t particularly encouraging, but it wasn’t a <em>no, </em>either.</p><p>And, well, that was already good enough for Dean.</p><p>“Well,” he piped up, shoulders rising and falling in a small shrug, “There’s always a first time for everything.”</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam turn his head to give him a look, but he didn’t dare to meet his brother’s eyes, and instead chose to keep his gaze focused solely on Jack, who gave him a tiny smile in response.</p><p>That smile was gone only a second later, however, replaced by a thoughtful frown. “But that’s only the <em>first</em> problem I encountered. There are… there are actually two more.”</p><p>Dean swallowed again, ignoring the sharp stab of pain that those words caused inside his chest.</p><p><em>Don’t get too hopeful, too soon, </em>he reminded himself. <em>Listen to everything first.</em></p><p>“Okay,” he managed to let out, somehow, though his voice came out hoarser than he’d intended. “What are the others? You also need a map of the freaking Empty or something?”</p><p>Jack made another pause, thinking over his next words. “Even if we do manage to get Cas out of the Empty, the Shadow… it still won’t let him stay here on Earth—and by that I mean on Earth, in Heaven, Hell, Purgatory—anywhere within this Universe. He won't be allowed to stay, not if things remain the way they are. The Shadow told me that even if I do find a way to get him out, it would just… pull him back the first chance it gets, because he… it said that he <em>belongs</em> to it now. The Empty can’t come to Earth if it’s not summoned, but with their deal still standing, then it has a free pass to come here and take him back, however many times it wants to. It won’t let him live for long.”</p><p>Dean couldn't help but wince at those words, at how <em>wrong </em>all of that sounded, especially when Jack said that the Empty believed it <em>owned </em>Cas. His stomach sloshed unpleasantly with a mixture of revolt and anger at the mere thought of it, and he gritted his teeth together, feeling his hands curl into fists at his sides. He actually felt a little nauseous.</p><p>He chose to stay quiet about it, though; chose not to voice any of the angry, hateful words that he could feel rapidly rising inside of him, climbing up the walls of his throat. He honestly didn’t trust his own voice right now.</p><p>“But you have a plan,” Eileen pointed out. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. I’m guessing you found a way around <em>that, </em>too.”</p><p>Once again, Jack gave a small, careful nod in response, and it took all of Dean’s willpower to stomp down the tiny spark of hope that once again threatened to bloom inside his chest.</p><p>
  <em>I can’t. Not yet.</em>
</p><p>“The Empty has a claim over angels and demons,” was Jack’s response, and he sounded like he was reading those words from a textbook as he talked—which wasn’t exactly unusual for him, either. The longer he talked, the more time Dean spent in the same room as him, the clearer it became that the kid really hadn’t changed all that much after absorbing Chuck’s powers.</p><p>Jack made a short pause, like he was expecting someone to put the pieces together on their own, for them to somehow figure out where he was going with this before he actually said it out loud.</p><p>When it became clear that wouldn’t happen, he finally added, “But it has no claim over humans.”</p><p>Those words had Dean frowning in confusion. The meaning behind them didn’t immediately register in his mind, and he actually had to think them over for a moment, spinning them around in his head for a short beat. But when their meaning <em>finally </em>sunk in<em>, </em>when it finally registered in his mind what exactly Jack was suggesting here, even though he was <em>still </em>trying not to let himself feel too hopeful about this, his heart still skipped a beat inside his chest, then picked up a much faster, frantic pace.</p><p>“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” Dean asked, voice coming out a little breathless, words sounding rushed and filled with surprise.</p><p>Jack nodded at him, another small, pleased smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he was <em>very </em>proud of himself for thinking of this. “If Cas is human, then the Shadow can’t pull him back to the Empty after we bring him back, because it <em>can’t</em> take a human soul from Earth. Their deal will be void, not broken. It’s… the perfect loophole.” Once again, it sounded like he was quoting words from a textbook, or maybe even repeating someone else’s words, but Dean chose not to comment on that.</p><p>Instead, he chose to focus on Jack’s idea, because it made sense—fuck, it <em>did, </em>and the single thought of it was enough to have Dean’s head <em>spinning</em>. His heart was doing actual freaking somersaults inside his chest by that point, his thoughts a frantic mess that he had no hopes of sorting through any time soon. Seriously, how the hell didn’t he—</p><p>“But can we really make that choice for him?”</p><p>Sam’s voice snapped Dean right back to reality, the shift so quick and sudden that he felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had just been dumped right over his freaking head. He actually had to blink at his brother for a moment, trying to wrap his head around what he’d just heard.</p><p>“What, you think he’d rather be <em>dead?”</em> Dean asked when he was finally able to form words again, not even caring that he sounded truly exasperated as he did it, his voice coming out much louder than he’d meant it to.</p><p>Now, don’t look at him like that—part of him <em>did</em> realize that Sam had a point there, and that his question <em>was </em>a valid one.</p><p>But ultimately, the choice here was to either let Cas remain a dead angel in the Empty, or to save him from that godawful place, to bring him <em>back</em>, to have him here again, well and alive—human, yes, but <em>alive.</em> And Dean would much rather have the latter, without even the tiniest sliver of doubt—and, well, he was pretty sure that Cas would prefer the second option, too.</p><p>Or… would he?</p><p>No, he would. Dean knew he would. There was just no way that Cas would rather stay fucking <em>dead.</em></p><p>But clearly, Sam wasn’t so easily convinced.</p><p>“You remember how miserable he was, don’t you?” Sam questioned. “The last time he was human? That’s why he took another angel’s Grace in the first place. What if he doesn’t <em>want</em> to be human?”</p><p>Again, Sam’s words made sense, but Dean <em>refused</em> to agree with him.</p><p>So he shook his head, gritting his teeth together for a second. His voice came out a lot stronger <em>and </em>sharper than he’d expected it to when he argued, “Yeah, but back then, the alternative wasn’t him being stuck in the Empty until the end of times, Sam. Do you really think he’d choose <em>that</em> over, you know, being <em>alive?”</em></p><p>A weird look passed over Sam’s eyes then—a pensive, contemplative look that had Dean shifting his weight on his feet, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure what exactly was going through Sam’s head in the moment, but he definitely didn’t like being on the receiving end of that look. It made him feel like he was stuck under a freaking microscope or something.</p><p>And yeah, okay, Dean knew how he sounded right now, how desperate he must look—he <em>knew. </em>He was probably coming off as extremely selfish, and maybe a little irrational, but he didn’t <em>care.</em></p><p>Seriously, they had a chance to bring Cas <em>back. </em>Sure, they would be making a pretty tough decision for him in the process, but that wouldn’t matter in the end, once Cas was safe and sound—and most importantly, <em>alive. </em>Was Dean really the only one who could see that?</p><p>Dean forced himself to look away from his brother, but as soon as his eyes found Eileen, he felt his stomach sink all the way down to the freaking floor, because he definitely did <em>not </em>like the look she was giving him right now either. As a matter of fact, he liked it even <em>less</em> than the one Sam was giving him, which was really saying something. Her eyes were heavy and loaded, as well as curious and inquiring, just like Sam's, as if she might be trying to read his freaking <em>mind</em> or something, but there was… there was also a hint of sadness in her gaze, a softness that had Dean’s chest feeling uncomfortably tight, like she <em>knew</em> something—which she didn’t, by the way, because there was just <em>no way </em>that she did, but that look was still enough to have Dean’s stomach sloshing unpleasantly.</p><p>He glanced back down at the floor, swallowing drily.</p><p>“And what’s the third problem?” Sam asked, breaking the tense, heavy silence that had taken over the room, apparently deciding to drop the discussion of whether or not Cas would prefer being human over being dead for the time being.</p><p>He’d probably bring it up again later, though—most likely once the two of them were alone and didn’t have a freaking audience, but they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.</p><p>Dean raised his head again to watch Jack’s reaction, and the thoughtful, careful look he found in the boy’s eyes definitely didn’t make Dean feel very confident about whatever he was about to hear.</p><p>“The last issue would be… finding Cas, in the Empty.”</p><p>Those words sounded way too ominous, and as they echoed in Dean’s ears, the hunter realized that he didn’t actually know much about the Empty. He had no idea what the place was like, or even what really happened to all the angels and demons that wound up there. They hadn't really talked about it—Cas had only told him that they basically just slept, but he'd also admitted that he didn’t remember anything from all the other times he'd been in the Empty. He only remembered what'd happened the last time he died, after Jack woke him up, which made sense. Most people usually couldn’t remember much from the time they were dead—like Mary couldn’t remember being in Heaven at all, even though she’d been up there for several years before Amara brought her back.</p><p>So really, what was the Empty even like? Sure, the name itself was pretty suggestive, but there had to be more to it, right? It couldn’t be just… nothing, could it?</p><p>As if reading Dean’s mind, Jack started talking again.</p><p>“The Empty, it’s… it’s a very big place, and navigating it, it’s… complicated. It’s just… empty, nothingness, a place of eternal rest for angels and demons, so they’re all… asleep, in a way? But they keep reliving memories, from what I understand—bad memories, mostly, like their biggest regrets. It’s… not a pleasant place. And while they sleep, so does the Shadow. But when one of them wakes up, the Shadow wakes up, and it’s… well, it <em>really</em> doesn’t like being awake.”</p><p>Dean nodded, though the movement came out slow, careful as he took a moment to process all that new information. An uneasy feeling settled in his gut at the thought that Cas was in that place <em>right now, </em>reliving his biggest regrets, stuck in an endless replay of his worst, most painful memories. The way Jack put it, the Empty just sounded like a different version of Hell, only for angels and demons, which was just really fucking awful to think about.</p><p>Cas didn't deserve to be there, trapped in that place. He didn't deserve to be suffering through whatever kind of torture the Shadow was probably putting him through right now.</p><p>Dean pushed those thoughts away before the pain they caused could get too unbearable, allowing nothing more than a pained flinch to show on his features.</p><p>“Okay, so what do we need to do?” he asked. “You need the Shadow to be asleep when we go in there? Is that it?” That seemed like the logical play here, right?</p><p>But much to Dean's surprise, Jack shook his head in a negative response.</p><p>“No, that… that wouldn’t work—at least not now. The Shadow hasn't gone back to sleep, after everything that happened with Billie and Chuck, so... you'll need to go unnoticed by it.”</p><p>“But shouldn’t it notice a couple of humans sneaking in there?” Eileen asked. "I mean, I'm assuming that's not something... common, right?"</p><p>“I… I can’t know that for sure,” Jack replied. “I’m guessing that it would feel it, because humans are not… they’re not supposed to <em>be</em> in the Empty—not normally, anyway. But right now, well, everything’s pretty messy over there. And the Shadow… it’s distracted, or busy, I guess, ever since Billie sent me there, so it might not notice you—or at least it might take a while to notice anything strange happening.”</p><p>Dean frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”</p><p>Jack had to think about his answer again, a small crease forming between his brows as he took a moment to choose his next words.</p><p>“When Chuck destroyed all the other worlds, when he… <em>killed</em> everyone in them, they needed somewhere to go, because you can’t just… <em>destroy </em>souls. But Chuck didn’t just destroy their planet—he also destroyed each world’s Heaven, Hell <em>and</em> Purgatory. He destroyed <em>everything, </em>tore the very fabric of every single one of those universes apart until there was nothing left, so… all those souls, they… they all wound up there—in the Empty.”</p><p>Dean's confusion only grew at that, and his frown deepened, because that didn't make any sense. Why would the souls from all those other universes end up here, in <em>their</em> universe?</p><p>Unless...</p><p>"There's only one Empty," Jack added, apparently reading the surprise and confusion that was so clearly displayed on all of their faces exactly for what it was. "Sure, there are—there <em>were</em> multiple worlds, but there's only one void that existed around all of them, and that still exists around this one. It's... the nothingness that surrounds the fabric of each world. The Empty—not the creature that <em>rules</em> over the Empty, but the place itself—it existed before everything, even Creation itself, even before Chuck and Amara. That's... that's where it all began."</p><p>Oh, wow, that... that was a lot to take in.</p><p>"Wait," Sam piped up, interest clearly piqued, "So all the angels and demons from those other worlds, they all just... went to the same place when they died? It was just... always like that?"</p><p>Jack nodded. "Yes. They had nowhere else to go, so they all just ended up in the Empty. Those were the terms that Chuck and the Shadow agreed on, when he started creating life."</p><p>"And who told you about all that?" Dean couldn't help but ask. "The Shadow?"</p><p>But Jack shook his head—slowly, calmly. "No. Amara did."</p><p>Oh. Right.</p><p>"Is she still...?" Sam raised a hand, waving it through the air, gesturing vaguely at Jack. "In there, somewhere?"</p><p>Jack nodded, looking perfectly calm and serene about his answer, like the fact that the freaking Darkness was still sharing that body with him, that the two were literally <em>merged</em> together wasn't that big of a deal. There was even a small, gentle smile playing on his lips when he said, "Yes. She's still with me. And she's been very helpful, with... well, everything."</p><p>Huh. Who would've thought?</p><p>Well, Dean certainly hadn't. Amara had definitely never struck him as the... helpful type, and the fact that she'd already stuck around for so long, that she'd apparently been filling Jack in on all kinds of cosmic gossip and basically been showing him the freaking ropes was pretty surprising to him.</p><p>"Okay, so," Sam started, apparently trying to get the conversation back on track. He leaned back in his chair a bit, tone growing serious again as he asked, "It’s not just angels and demons over there anymore? In the Empty?”</p><p>“Only from <em>this</em> world,” Jack clarified. “From all the others, no, there are angels, demons, humans, monsters—it’s… it’s really a mess over there.”</p><p>Dean huffed, feeling a small twinge of sympathy for all those poor bastards who'd wound up in the Empty simply because they weren’t in the right <em>world </em>when Chuck had decided to throw a damn fit and started breaking his toys. Most of those people didn’t deserve that, no matter where they were from—Apocalypse World, the Bad Place, that freaky world where their Dad had literally made a business out of hunting and called it fucking Hunters Corp, or even that ridiculous world where his and Sam’s lives were a freaking TV show. None of those guys deserved to just be tossed in the freaking Empty for all eternity.</p><p>But this wasn’t the time to feel bad about that. They had something a<em> lot</em> more important to worry about right now.</p><p>“So that’s why the Shadow’s distracted?” Dean questioned. “Because it's got billions of news souls to torment for all eternity?”</p><p>Jack shook his head. “No, that’s… that’s not it. When souls arrive in the Empty, they’re all asleep—even the ones that came from all those other worlds. It’s very rare that they actually wake up, so that wouldn’t be enough to… to distract the Shadow.”</p><p>Dean frowned. “Okay, so what the hell happened, then? Why’s the Shadow busy?”</p><p>“When I… I was about to take out Chuck, and Amara." A small flinch formed on Jack's features when he said her name, but Dean tried not to read too much into it. "When I had all that energy building up inside of me, Billie sent me to the Empty so I could let it all out.” He made a short pause, eyes dancing around the room to make sure everyone was following. He got a couple of reassuring nods from Sam and Eileen (Dean assumed that Sam must have filled her in on everything that’d happened with Billie, at some point), plus two raised eyebrows from Dean, which was apparently enough to satisfy him, so he went on with his story. “All that energy, the blast it created… the Shadow took the worst of it, but some of that energy also got released into the Empty itself, like an aftershock. It caused a… a disturbance. The Shadow said that I… I made it loud, and when I went back there, after everything that happened with Chuck, I understood why.”</p><p>He made a small pause, then added, “I woke them up—all of them. All the angels, demons, monsters and human souls that are stuck in the Empty. So the Shadow… it’s been busy, trying to put them back to sleep, but there are just too many of them. I believe it’s going to take a while until things are truly quiet over there again.”</p><p>Well, that definitely sounded like the kind of party Dean was <em>not</em> looking forward to crashing, that was for sure.</p><p>But he’d do it, if it meant getting Cas back. No, he was <em>going</em> to do it—no questions asked, no matter how many pissed off angels, demons or monsters he may need to get through to do it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. He’d spent a whole damn <em>year </em>in fucking Purgatory, fighting for his damn life every damn second of every day. Taking a stroll through the Empty couldn’t be too different from that, right?</p><p>“But that was before, right?” Sam questioned. “If you… ‘made it loud’ when Billie sent you over there, then Cas died <em>after </em>that. So he’s not…”</p><p>Jack shook his head. “No, Cas is not awake. The Shadow made that pretty clear when we spoke.”</p><p>Oh, well, so much for <em>that.</em></p><p>Guess it was just too much to hope that Cas might be awake, and <em>not</em> currently being tormented by the Shadow.</p><p>“I did try to use that, to bargain with the Shadow,” Jack added. “I offered to help sending all those souls back to sleep, if it let me have Cas, but… it wouldn’t take the deal. It’s… it really doesn’t want to let Cas go, not even for that. Not even if it means that it can finally go back to sleep.”</p><p>Dean huffed. Of course the damn Shadow wouldn't take that deal, because why the hell would something in their lives ever be <em>that</em> easy?</p><p>It just didn't work that way. It never had.</p><p>“Okay, so, the bottom lines here is,” Dean piped up, straightening up a little, finally leaning away from the wall, “The Shadow should notice a couple humans sneaking into the Empty normally, but there <em>are</em> humans over there now, so that’s not that big of a deal anymore. Also, it’s pretty busy and distracted with putting all the angels, demons and whatever else got sent to the Empty when Chuck tore down all those other worlds back to sleep, so we should be fine? That it? Or could we still run into the damn thing while we’re over there?”</p><p>Jack nodded—but it was slow, tentative, the look in his eyes bordering on uncertain. “You should be fine, in theory, but…” He paused, giving what the hunter could only describe as a piercing, determined look. The change was so quick, so abrupt, that Dean was honestly a little stunned by it. “I think only one of you should go. There <em>are</em> countless human souls over there now, but that’s all they are—souls. They died, when Chuck tore their worlds apart. But you’re alive, and you’d be the only humans from <em>this</em> universe in there, and that… that might catch the Shadow’s attention. One live human might go unnoticed. Anything more than that would be too risky.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam turn his head again—to send him a look, no doubt. Dean could almost see it—the wide, worried eyes, the raised eyebrows, the panicked, alarmed look that had surely taken over his little brother's features.</p><p>So naturally, Dean didn’t dare to send even a single glance over at him before he nodded, squaring his shoulders a little. “Okay,” he said. “So, what’s the game plan here? You sneak me in there, and then… what? How am I supposed to find Cas? You said the place’s pretty big.” Maybe they <em>would</em> need a map, after all.</p><p>He could practically <em>feel </em>Sam’s eyes burning holes into the side of his face, but once again, he kept staring right ahead, eyes focused solely on Jack as he waited for a response.</p><p>Jack nodded again. “Essentially, yes. I’ll… ‘sneak you in there’.” Dean could literally <em>hear</em> the freaking air quotes around those words, which had a painful twinge shooting through his heart, because <em>fuck</em>, did the kid remind him of Cas, even now. “And then you’ll use <em>this </em>to find him.”</p><p>Jack raised his hand, holding up something that Dean was <em>certain</em> hadn’t been there before, like he’d just manifested it out of thin air, but the hunter simply wrote that off as yet another God thing and narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what exactly he was looking at.</p><p>It was a… necklace?</p><p>“The hell is that?” Dean asked, frowning. He took a few steps forward, crossing the distance between himself and Jack in a few quick strides so that he could have a closer look. The nephilim-turned-God was still smiling at Dean, and he looked so damn proud of himself, like he really thought this was the best idea he’d ever had in his whole freaking life.</p><p>Dean was still frowning when Jack handed him the necklace, but his eyebrows rose up to his freaking forehead and his heart all but skipped a freaking beat the moment he had the thing resting on his palm.</p><p>It was a pretty simple necklace—just a small, golden brass pendant hanging from a simple black string, but the moment he laid his eyes on it, Dean felt his breath getting caught in his throat.</p><p>“Jack, what the hell is this?” he asked, and there was a slight tremble to his voice that he was sure hadn’t gone unnoticed by everyone else in that room. He let the tips of his fingers run gently over the chord, feeling it incredibly soft to the touch, and caught himself wondering if it was made out of elephant hair. He thought it was fair to assume that it was.</p><p>“It’s an amulet,” was Jack’s simple, matter-of-fact reply. He was still smiling.</p><p>“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean replied, holding himself back from rolling his eyes. He actually had to remind himself that Jack was <em>God</em> now, so he probably shouldn’t be <em>too</em> rude to him. “Where the hell did you <em>get </em>this?”</p><p>“Angola,” Jack replied easily. “I asked a very, <em>very </em>distant descendant of the shaman who made <em>your</em> amulet to make another one. The one you had was a symbol from their tribe that meant deity—or power. <em>That </em>one,” He pointed at the amulet currently cradled in Dean’s palm, “is the symbol of the warrior. I… I thought it would be more accurate.”</p><p>Briefly, Dean wondered how the fuck <em>his </em>amulet had found its way from freaking Angola all the way to South Dakota, but he chose not to question it. He probably wouldn’t like the answer, since it would most likely have something to do with fate or some other bullshit of that sort. He’d been hearing that crap all his damn life, and after 15 freaking years of it, he’d already reached his damn quota, thank you very much.</p><p>Instead on dwelling on <em>that, </em>he focused on examining <em>this </em>amulet instead, comparing it to the one he’d worn around his own neck for so many years of his life, without even knowing what it was truly meant for. Unlike <em>his</em> amulet, though, which had a face with its eyes closed, its mouth frowned and small, pointy horns on either side of its head, this one had its eyes wide and alert, its mouth partially open, making some of its teeth visible, its lips pursed in what looked like an angry snarl, and it had no horns, but the color and material seemed to be exactly the same—and the craftsmanship, too.</p><p>The sound of a chair’s legs scraping against the floor filled the air, and out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw someone walking up to where he was standing—Sam, most likely, considering the familiar, heavy steps that reached his ears, or how that someone stopped right next to him to peek over his shoulder, glancing down at the amulet in his hand.</p><p>“Is this like the…?” Sam started, voice sounding low and a little awed, but he didn’t finish his question, letting his voice trail off instead.</p><p>“Like the amulet you used to detect Chuck’s presence, yes,” Jack answered with a small nod.</p><p>“And you want Dean to take this to the Empty to find Cas?” Sam asked, and it was hard to miss the hint of incredulity that coated his words. “Just walk around with it until it lights up? That’s your plan?”</p><p>Jack, however, either didn’t notice Sam’s tone, or chose to completely ignore it, because that proud smile was still playing on his lips, completely unaffected as he nodded again. “Yes. Once it’s ready, that would be the idea.”</p><p>Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Once it’s ready? What else do we need to do with it?”</p><p>“Well, right now it’s pretty useless,” Jack replied with a shrug. “You need to get it spelled first.”</p><p>“Spelled?” Sam questioned.</p><p>“Yes. I, uh… I spoke with the angels—the few ones that are still left in Heaven. The witch who spelled the original necklace died eight hundred years ago, but she was a very powerful witch when she was alive. She was tasked to do it, by one of the angels, right after Chuck left.” He narrowed his eyes, a heavy, thoughtful frown settling in his brows, like he was searching through his memories, trying to handpick the words that he wanted to use. “They… they were pretty hopeful that he would return, back then, but some angels still tried to find him on their own, especially once Gabriel left too. They were… lost, desperate—enough to resort to asking a witch to create a spell that would be enough to help them find Chuck.”</p><p>Dean had to admit—it was pretty weird to hear Jack talking about Heaven’s history like that, but Dean figured that whatever angel was in charge up there must have given him the rundown on how to run the place, not to mention gone over the most important highlights of the last few thousands of years.</p><p>Speaking of which, <em>who </em>was the angel in charge right now? Was Naomi still around? Or was it someone else? Was Naomi even still alive? Cas <em>had </em>mentioned that she was still kicking a while ago, but maybe that had changed at some point. There was also the… Duma chick, right? But then she kinda went psycho and had Jack create a bunch of angels, and then Cas killed her? That’s what happened, right? How many angels were even still up there, anyway?</p><p>Dean realized he had no idea.</p><p>“The witch agreed, but only if the angels had her go to Heaven when she died instead of Hell,” Jack continued. “Angels <em>can</em> perform spells, but they’re not very good at creating them from scratch, and since the witch was probably the only one who could both create and cast such a spell at the time, Heaven agreed to her terms. So I went to speak with her in Heaven, and then passed on everything that she told me to Rowena.”</p><p>Dean waved his hand in the air, already growing impatient with all that storytelling. “Okay, what’s the point here? Can Rowena do the spell or not?”</p><p>Jack didn’t seem annoyed or offended by Dean’s impatience, and instead smiled again—and his smile was much bigger this time, wider, actually showing teeth. “She had to make a few changes to the original spell, so that it won’t seek out Chuck or me<em>, </em>but a specific angel<em>. </em>But she did it, and she believes it should work. Here.”</p><p>Jack was holding out a folded piece of yellowed paper that had <em>definitely </em>not been there before, and the kid had definitely not reached inside any pockets to get it, but Dean chose to just shrug that off as well and reached out to take the offered paper before Sam could get any ideas and try to take it himself.</p><p>His hands were shaking as he unfolded the paper, heart beating fast and frantic in his throat, but at last, he found himself staring down at a small list of ingredients. He let his eyes dance over the words, taking in the neat, polished calligraphy that was so obviously Rowena’s, racking his brain as he tried to recall if they had everything that they would need for the spell here in the Bunker.</p><p>He did that for a little while, ticking off ingredients in his mind, feeling that treacherous spark of hope growing stronger inside of him, burning brighter the further he got down the list without finding anything that they <em>didn’t </em>have right at hand, until—</p><p>Well, until he got to the last three ingredients, and he felt his hope die out again, bursting inside his chest like a popped balloon.</p><p>Sam reached out, grabbing the list and gently pulling it from his brother’s hand, and Dean was so stunned, so lost in his own thoughts that he let him do it without a fight.</p><p>Sam walked back over to the map table, eyes dancing over the list. “The blood of a holy man, given willingly, and a bone from a pure, faithful soul,” Sam cited, just as he reclaimed his seat right beside Eileen. He passed her the list, then raised his head so he could look at Jack again. “We don’t have those at hand, but we can get them, somehow. But the last one—”</p><p>“Jack, we don’t have any of Cas’ Grace,” Dean said, voice coming out loud, exasperated, and it actually cracked on the last word, which wasn’t exactly surprising.</p><p>Because suddenly he felt broken, shattered. He felt like someone had just punched a hole into his chest and was now holding his bloody, still-beating heart in their fist, squeezing it until it fucking <em>popped.</em></p><p><em>This, </em>right here—the way he was feeling right now, the despair that was quickly flooding his insides once again—this was exactly why he shouldn’t allow himself to grow too hopeful, not before he actually knew <em>everything.</em></p><p>“I mean, why the fuck would we?” he added, when a tense, loaded silence was the only response he got. Sure, they’d had to use Cas’ Grace for a few spells before, and Dean definitely hadn't had any qualms about asking Cas to lend them some of it when it was something that they needed, but he'd sure as hell never asked Cas to just give them some of his Grace so they could keep it stored in the Bunker, just in case they might need it in the future. He knew an angel's Grace wasn't exactly something to be played with, so even <em>he</em> could tell that would be asking for too much.</p><p>And, well, Dean had never allowed himself to think about a future where Cas <em>wouldn’t </em>be around to provide them with his Grace whenever they needed it.</p><p>But now that future was here, and the fact that they’d never had the foresight of keeping a vial of Cas’ Grace hidden somewhere in the Bunker had come back to haunt them—not only that, but it might turn out to be the very reason why they <em>wouldn’t</em> be able to bring Cas back.</p><p>Fuck. God fucking <em>damn it.</em></p><p>Why couldn’t he have just—</p><p>
  <em>Wait a second.</em>
</p><p>Dean fixed Jack with a wide, almost desperate look. “Does it <em>have</em> to be his Grace?”</p><p>Jack frowned, clearly confused by that question. His voice was practically dripping with uncertainty when he replied, “I’m not sure.”</p><p>“What about his blood?” Dean clarified. “Would his blood work? I mean, it’s dry, and a month old, but it’s still his blood. There’s gotta be some of his Grace in it, right?” He sounded so damn hopeful, so obviously grasping at freaking <em>straws, </em>even to his own ears, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care about that right now.</p><p>But Jack didn’t seem so sure, and when he replied, his voice once again carried a clear hint of uncertainty. “That… might work, I think. But I guess Rowena should be the judge of that. I might have gained a much better understanding of magic, after everything, but that particular spell, it’s… very complicated.”</p><p>Well, that wasn’t a no—and really, Dean wasn’t as well-versed in magic as Sam was—or even <em>Jack</em> now, apparently—but he understood enough of it to be pretty confident that it <em>should </em>work. Angel blood must have some lingering traces from the angel's Grace, right? And that’s what made it different from human blood? From just the blood of the vessel?</p><p>Yeah, that made sense.</p><p>And if Dean held on to that thought just a tad bit more tightly than he probably should, well, no one needed to know about it.</p><p>“But would this amulet even work in the Empty?” Sam asked, snapping Dean out of his racing, whirring thoughts.</p><p>Jack paused again, another small frown forming in his brows, but he seemed a bit more certain when he replied this time. “I believe so. I don’t see why it wouldn’t. The Empty <em>is</em> pretty different from Earth, or Heaven, but this kind of magic, it… it should work there, all the same.”</p><p>Well, that was good enough for Dean.</p><p>“Okay,” Dean nodded, “So we get the ingredients, get Rowena to do the spell, then you pop me in the Empty. I use this amulet to find Cas, and once I do, you get us both out of there, preferably <em>before</em> the Shadow notices anything shady going on.” It sounded easy, almost simple, when he put it like that, although he knew nothing about this plan was actually <em>simple. </em>“That all? Or is there anything else I should know?”</p><p>The way Jack hesitated to answer that wasn't exactly encouraging.</p><p>“Jack?” Dean pressed, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>“Essentially, yes, that’s all,” was Jack’s reply, though his tone sounded just a little off, which did <em>not</em> make Dean feel very confident. It definitely sounded like there was more on his mind, like there was something that he wasn't telling them, and that he was very carefully skirting around, for some reason.</p><p>Before Dean could ask about it, though, Sam piped up again.</p><p>“What if the Shadow notices him?” he asked. “Could it still hurt him, somehow? Even if he’s human?”</p><p>As annoyed as Dean may be that Sam was <em>still</em> trying to find issues in Jack’s plan, that <em>was</em> a question that he should probably know the answer to before going into this, so he fixed Jack with an expectant look, waiting for an answer.</p><p>“It… could,” Jack admitted. “If the Shadow does notice you, it’ll certainly complicate things.”</p><p>Dean swallowed, feeling his throat running a little dry again, but he still managed to ask, “Complicate things how?”</p><p>“The Shadow can’t come to Earth to claim a human soul, but… while you’re over there…” Jack shook his head, pursing his lips, like he was organizing his thoughts. “The Empty, it’s… it’s not a part of my domain, I guess you could say. So if the Shadow does find you, even if you’re human, then there’s… there’s nothing I can do, if it decides to hide you from me—and it <em>can</em> do that. It’s doing it with Cas. And I can’t demand that it releases you, or Cas, even once he's human, because I don’t actually hold any power over there. That’s why we need to act fast, and after you find Cas, after you remove his Grace, I’ll get you both out of there as fast as I can, hopefully before the Shadow can notice what’s happening.”</p><p>Maybe Dean should be a little more worried about all of that, about what might happen to him if he couldn’t find Cas fast enough, or if Jack couldn’t get him and Cas out in time. Briefly, the memory of a wall of thick black goo swirling through the air filled his mind, of the way it’d all but freaking <em>engulfed </em>Cas before it’d taken him away, and for a second, he couldn’t help but imagine the same thing happening to <em>him.</em></p><p>But then the rest of what Jack had just said registered in his head, and Dean felt his insides freezing over.</p><p>“After I <em>what?” </em>There was just no way that he’d heard that right. There was just <em>no freaking way</em> that Jack actually expected him to—</p><p>“After you remove Cas’ Grace,” Jack repeated, frowning. He looked legitimately confused, and he sounded so freaking calm, too, so collected, like he might as well be talking about the freaking weather, and not about how apparently, Dean would have to literally <em>cut Cas’ Grace out of him</em>, while they were still <em>in the freaking Empty.</em></p><p>“Wait, <em>Dean’s </em>gonna have to do that?” Sam asked. He didn’t sound nearly as exasperated as Dean felt, but it was a pretty close second. Honestly, for the first time in a while, Dean was pretty thankful that his brother had decided to speak up.</p><p>Because all of a sudden, he just couldn’t form any freaking <em>words.</em></p><p>Jack nodded, because of course he did, and he still looked pretty confused, like he honestly had no idea why he was getting so many puzzled looks thrown his way right now. “Yes. I can’t do it myself, and I can’t get Cas out of the Empty while he’s still an angel, because all of that would be going against their deal. He needs to be human when I get him out, and I can't be the one to <em>make </em>him human.”</p><p>Okay, yeah, that made sense, but <em>fuck </em>if the single thought of it didn’t have Dean’s stomach tying itself up in freaking <em>knots.</em></p><p>“But can you even do that?” Sam questioned. “Cut out an angel’s Grace in the <em>Empty? </em>I mean, would that even <em>work?”</em></p><p>Jack paused, then shook his head. “I’m not sure about that, either. It’s… well, it’s also never been done before, as far as I know. I guess we’ll see.”</p><p>Oh, <em>wow, </em>so… guess that was that, huh?</p><p>Letting out a breath, Dean raised a hand, scratching at his rough, overgrown beard as he went over everything that Jack had told them, considering every single relevant piece of information about his plan, all the risks and ways that things could go so terribly wrong—and there were quite a few of them.</p><p>But that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because this was their only shot at saving Cas. Jack was the only one who could make it happen, and this was the only way that he could do that, so this was their only option. Also, they had to do this <em>now,</em> while the Shadow was still busy putting all those souls back to sleep. If they missed this window of opportunity, they might never get another chance like this again—of sneaking into the Empty unnoticed and maybe, just <em>maybe</em> getting Cas out of there <em>without</em> having to deal with the Shadow.</p><p>This was the only way, their only shot, so it didn’t matter how risky this whole thing was, how many flaws Jack’s plan actually had, how many uncertainties they would need to work around. None of that mattered, because this was Cas.</p><p>This was <em>Cas.</em></p><p>“Dean.”</p><p>He raised his head, turning around so that he could look at Sam, and while the look he found in his brother’s eyes wasn’t exactly surprising, it still had Dean's stomach sinking all the way down to the freaking floor.</p><p>Sam’s eyes were wide, a wordless message shining from them—a desperate plea that Dean could read all too well. They were laced with fear, too, a sight that had Dean’s heart feeling painfully tight and heavy inside his chest, and that had that same guilt from before—the one that’d filled him back at that pie festival and outside that hospital in Canton, as well as when he’d taken off in the middle of the night without telling Sam and Eileen—pooling into his gut once again, burning everything it touched and leaving a sour taste in his mouth.</p><p>And really, it wasn't like Dean didn't understand where Sam was coming from—because he <em>did. </em>There were just too many variables to Jack’s plan that they had no control over, too many ways that it could all go oh-so-terribly wrong, and they didn’t even know if it would <em>work.</em></p><p>But the alternative was to do nothing, to leave Cas rotting in the Empty, and for Dean to keep going on like this, to just keep… existing, day after day, just going through the motions, following the same unchanging, pointless routine that he’d fallen into throughout the past three weeks, and he really wasn’t sure how much more of that he could take. Just the thought that they <em>might</em> be able to do this, that there was a <em>chance, </em>small as it may be, that they could bring Cas <em>back—</em>it’d awoken something inside of him, something a lot stronger than just hope, something that’d been buried so deep down inside of him that before all this, Dean had really thought that part of himself would never see the light of day again.</p><p>He had a purpose again, after a whole freaking <em>month </em>of basically doing nothing beyond wallowing in his grief, of being constantly smothered by his own guilt, of thinking there was <em>nothing</em> that he could do to get better, to <em>fix</em> this. At one point, he'd truly believed that there was no hope left for him, that he just couldn't be fixed anymore. Just a week ago, he'd thought he was beyond saving.</p><p>But now that'd changed<em>. </em>He wasn’t helpless or useless anymore. He could actually do something. He could <em>save Cas.</em></p><p>And if going to the fucking Empty was the only way to do it—well, then that’s what he was going to do, no matter how risky or uncertain the whole thing may be, or even how unhappy Sam might be about it.</p><p>“Sam, don’t,” he said, shaking his head, speaking up before his brother could let out another word. His voice came out weaker than he’d intended, though, and he cursed quietly, in the safety of his own mind.</p><p>But Sam shook his head and clenched his jaw, clearly not willing to back down just yet. “Dean, we don’t even know if this’ll work. You can’t just—”</p><p>“I said <em>don’t!”</em></p><p>This time, his voice came out strong, his words sharp as a knife.</p><p>Silence followed Dean’s words—heavy and tense. Sam and Eileen both looked pretty stunned, eyeing him with two pairs of wide, shocked eyes and matching raised eyebrows, but soon enough, the surprise faded from Sam’s face, and his entire expression fell, changing into something else entirely. He still looked pretty desperate, his eyes wide and begging, but his shoulders had slumped at his sides, and there was a clear hint of resignation in his gaze, like he’d finally realized that there was no way for him this win this battle.</p><p>Dean stared him down for another moment, before he turned back around to look at Jack—who looked pretty confused, eyes darting back and forth between the two Winchesters, a heavy frown in his brows. He looked like he had no idea what'd just happened, like he was trying very hard to understand what that whole exchange had been about, but was clearly failing miserably at it.</p><p>“Okay,” Dean said, and his voice came out firm, but hoarse. “I’m in.”</p><p>The confusion melted from Jack’s face, and he focused his eyes back on Dean, another small, gentle smile touching his lips. He nodded. “Good. But you’ll need to go down to Hell and talk to Rowena yourselves, to get the amulet spelled. The less involved I am, in all of this, the better. I’ve already done too much by getting this amulet for you, but I suppose it <em>could </em>be used for anything right now, so I’m not interfering directly with their deal just yet.”</p><p>Okay, that seemed easy enough.</p><p>“Not a problem,” Dean said, already going through a mental list, making sure that they also had everything they would need for the spell to go down to Hell here in the Bunker. He was pretty sure they did.</p><p>Jack nodded again, clearly pleased with that answer. “And once you have the amulet ready, just pray to me, and I’ll send you to the Empty.”</p><p>Simple as that, huh?</p><p>Dean nodded again. He could still feel Sam’s eyes on him, boring holes into his back, but he elected to just ignore him completely. He gave a small nod, letting out a low, yet firm, “Yeah, it’s a date.”</p><p>Jack frowned, and he looked confused all over again. “You want to set a date? I don’t think that would be wise. It’s better that we do this as soon as possible, before the Empty is done putting all those souls back to sleep.”</p><p>
  <em>For fuck’s sake, he really is Cas’ kid. Jesus Christ.</em>
</p><p>“No, Jack,” Dean said, shaking his head. “That’s just… an expression. I’m not actually setting a date.”</p><p>Jack’s frown deepened. “But then why did you say—”</p><p>“I’ll pray to you, okay?” Dean cut him off. “As soon as I have the thing already.”</p><p>Jack still seemed a little puzzled, but he finally seemed to decide to just brush that whole thing off. “Okay,” he nodded, and offered Dean another smile. “I’ll be waiting.”</p><p>There was a flash of light, and then he was gone—just like that, without so much as a, ‘See you all later,’ or even a freaking warning—much like Cas used to do, way back in the day, when the angel’s wings weren’t shredded to hell and he just absolutely refused to walk or drive anywhere, and instead simply popped in and out whenever he felt like it.</p><p>Dean huffed at that thought, shaking his head and hastily pushing all those memories away, before he could linger too much on them and that familiar ache he felt blooming to life inside of him whenever he thought about Cas could get too unbearable.</p><p>When he finally snapped himself back to reality, however, he was suddenly very much aware of the fact that just because Jack had left, it didn’t mean that he was suddenly alone—<em>no, </em>there were still two other people in that room with him—two people who would most likely try to engage him in a pretty tense, pretty serious conversation at any second now. He could practically <em>feel</em> their eyes boring holes into his back, the weight of their gazes making his shoulders stiffen and tense, his muscles locking up, as if his body was unconsciously preparing itself for a fight. Just thinking about the kind of conversation that he could potentially be dealing with real freaking soon was already enough to have Dean swallowing drily, to have his heart picking up a much faster pace inside his chest as a small spark of panic burst to life inside of him.</p><p>Because now that Jack had left, now that they no longer had an absurdly powerful being present to act as a buffer, the air inside that room had suddenly become stifling. In a matter of just a few seconds, the silence that currently ruled over the room had grown so freaking heavy and absolute that Dean felt like he might actually suffocate if he stayed in that room for even a minute longer. He could practically <em>feel</em> the tension in the air—you could probably cut it with a freaking knife, if you really wanted to. The weight of Jack’s words still lingered in the air, echoing soundlessly in their ears, and really, Dean could just imagine the kinds of things that Sam and Eileen might want to say to him, now that they no longer had an audience.</p><p>And <em>fuck, </em>Dean did <em>not </em>want to deal with any of that right now.</p><p>So he swallowed drily, shaking his head as he made a quick, hasty decision, and before either Sam or Eileen could say anything, he spun around on his heels.</p><p>He didn’t raise his eyes, refusing to meet Sam’s and Eileen’s inquiring gazes, to see the intense, concerned looks that he was bound to find in their eyes as he marched over to the map table. Eileen had dropped the ingredient list onto it at some point, which Dean was immensely grateful for, so he just zeroed in on it as he walked, snatching the paper off the table and making a break for it as quickly as he could, practically running out of the war room before either Sam or Eileen could utter out even a single word. He could practically feel their eyes following him as he moved, all the way to the freaking door, but fortunately, they didn’t try to stop him, or even call out after him as he stormed out of the room, gripping Jack’s amulet in one hand and Rowena’s ingredient list in the other.</p><p>Dean wasn’t sure how exactly he’d managed to get away from that whole situation so easily, but he definitely wasn’t going to question it. He just counted himself lucky that Sam hadn’t stood up from that chair and tried to stop him, that he hadn't started yammering on about all the reasons why Jack’s plan was too risky, or about how Dean shouldn’t just jump into it like this, how they needed to <em>think</em> more about it or some other bullshit like that—which Dean <em>definitely </em>didn’t have time for, mind you.</p><p>No, he had things to do—namely, gathering up all the ingredients that they would need for <em>both</em> of the spells that they would need to be performing very soon, and then he needed to figure out how exactly he would be getting his hands on those two final ingredients. He couldn’t just stand around and chitchat. He couldn’t waste any more time. He needed to get off his ass and freaking <em>move.</em> For the first time in weeks, he had things to do, places to be.</p><p>He finally had a <em>purpose</em> again.</p><p>His right leg was still bothering him—a dull pain shot through his knee at every step he took, reaching all the way down to his calf, and although he wasn’t actually limping anymore, he still couldn’t help but wince when he walked a little too fast, when he pushed himself just a little bit too much. But he ignored the pain and powered through, making his way across the Bunker as quickly as he could until he finally found himself barging into the dungeon.</p><p>And as he marched into that room, he didn’t let himself look at the back of the door, where he knew that damn sigil was still painted, still staining the wood, dark and dry after four weeks. He didn’t let himself think about what’d happened in that very room only a month ago. No, he had something a lot more important to focus on now, and that thought was enough to give him the strength he needed to push all those unbearably painful, unwanted memories to the back of his mind as he made a beeline for the section of the Men of Letters’ storage area where they kept most of their spell ingredients.</p><p>First, he put aside all the ingredients required for the spell to send a human down to Hell, which he already knew by heart at this point, with how many times they’d used it over the past few years. He was very happy to learn that they did have all the necessary ingredients, and once he had everything that they would need for that spell set aside, placed neatly on top of the small table by the wall in the back of the room, he started making his way down Rowena’s list, rummaging through countless shelves and boxes, sifting through several leather bags, tiny wooden chests and clear glass jars as he tried to locate all the items on the list.</p><p>Rosemary. Rosemary. Dean was pretty sure that they had some of that around here somewhere, but it wasn’t stored under plants, or even herbs, so where the fuck else could it be? Maybe they’d misplaced it? If they <em>had</em>, Dean was pretty sure he hadn’t been the one to do it, but if he <em>had </em>been<em>, </em>then maybe, he <em>imagined—</em>and really, this was all just completely hypothetical—then maybe he would have stored it with the—</p><p>“Dean.”</p><p>Dean’s heart almost jumped right out of his freaking chest at the sound of his name, which snapped him out of his thoughts pretty freaking abruptly and interrupted his search, and he was quick to swivel around, almost dropping the jar of owl bones that he was holding in his hand.</p><p>His brother was standing right at the end of the narrow hallway between the two shelves that Dean had been searching through for the past ten minutes. He was just… standing there, <em>staring </em>at Dean with those big, sad puppy eyes of his, with his mouth pressed into a thin line and his shoulders hanging unusually low at his sides.</p><p>Briefly, Dean wondered how long he’d been there for. He hadn’t even heard him come into the freaking room.</p><p><em>“Jesus, </em>Sam!” Dean scolded, “What the <em>fuck? </em>You almost gave me a fucking heart attack! Wear a damn bell or something.”</p><p>Sam had no reaction to those words, however—in fact, he didn’t even flinch at his brother’s loud, exasperated tone. No, his eyes actually looked a bit glassy, and he kept clenching his jaw every couple of seconds, looking like he was having some sort of internal battle with himself, like he had a million thoughts running through his head, but couldn’t decide which one he should be voicing first—or maybe he just couldn’t decide on how to put all of them into words.</p><p>Either way, it really looked like Dean wouldn’t be getting out of this one <em>that </em>easily. For a moment there, he’d really thought that he’d done it. He’d actually let himself believe that if he moved fast enough, he might be able to avoid this conversation altogether, or at least put it off for a little longer—but clearly, he’d been wrong about that.</p><p>Because now Sam was here, looking like the vein in his forehead was about to burst with how hard he was thinking about whatever it was that he’d come here to say, whatever he wanted to talk to Dean about, and there was just no way that Dean could simply run away from him now.</p><p>Damn it.</p><p>Dean let out a big, suffering sigh, shaking his head in frustration. “What do you want, Sam?” he asked, putting the jar of owl bones back in its place and resuming his search for that damn freaking rosemary. He needed to keep moving, to keep doing things, because if he let himself stop for too long, if he let himself <em>think </em>too much, then he might start going over Jack’s plan again, and <em>that</em> might lead him to start asking some questions that he really shouldn't be asking right now—seeing all the flaws, all the problems with it, which might lead him to start doubting it, to start wondering if that plan actually had any chance of working, and if <em>that</em> happened—</p><p>Well, he just couldn’t have that now, could he?</p><p>“Dean, I…” Sam let his voice trail off, like he changed his mind about whatever he’d been about to say right at the last second. He shook his head, pressing his lips together and clenching his jaw again. It still took him another moment to get anything out, until eventually, he finally settled on a quiet, “Maybe <em>I </em>should be the one to go.”</p><p>And, well, that was most definitely <em>not </em>what Dean had been expecting to hear right now.</p><p>“What?” Dean asked, frowning, and he didn’t even bother trying to hide his disbelief. “The hell you talking about?”</p><p>“To the Empty,” Sam clarified. “Maybe I should go, not you.”</p><p>Dean actually had to take a moment to just stop and try to wrap his head around what Sam was saying, which he spent blinking dumbly at his brother and trying to figure out if maybe he’d heard him wrong—but judging by the look on Sam’s face, well, it definitely didn’t seem like that might be the case here.</p><p>Seriously, where the hell was this coming from?</p><p>“Okay, what the hell are you doing?”</p><p>Sam didn’t seem to know how to answer that. He opened his mouth, but closed it only a second later, shaking his head weakly. Finally, he shrugged, offering a low, gentle, “Honestly, I… I don’t know.”</p><p>Some of the anger and frustration that Dean had felt once he realized that Sam had followed him in here to try and talk him out of going through with Jack's plan faded as soon as he took in the sad, tired look in his brother’s eyes, when he heard the defeated tone of his voice. Sam’s shoulders were still hanging low, too, slumped under an invisible weight, and Dean really wasn’t sure if that weight had been put there simply by exhaustion, or by something else entirely.</p><p>It actually took Dean a moment to find his voice again, but eventually, he shook his head, letting out a weak, pleading, “Sam, you know I have to do this.”</p><p>But clearly, that wasn’t the response Sam had been hoping to get. He shook his head, the look in his eyes growing even sadder, almost begging. “Dean, you’re not thinking clearly,” he insisted, his voice urgent but low, breathy, like he barely had enough energy left in him to let out those words. “I just, I can’t… I can’t let you do this.”</p><p>Okay, now that was definitely <em>not</em> what Dean had been expecting to hear, and those last few words were enough to have his eyebrows rising halfway up to his freaking hairline. Some of his frustration from before came back, too, and he let it bleed freely into his voice as he blurted out a surprised, “Excuse me?”</p><p>“I can’t let you do this,” Sam repeated. “I can’t let you go to the Empty.”</p><p>Okay, what the <em>fuck?</em></p><p>“Sam, you’re not <em>letting</em> me do anything,” Dean retorted, shaking his head, and if his words came out sharp and a little harsh—well, he was pretty sure he was entitled.</p><p>Seriously, what the hell was Sam trying to do here?</p><p>Well, whatever that was, his brother clearly wasn’t willing to back down from it so easily. He actually looked <em>annoyed</em> now, and frustrated, even going so far as to let out a huff and raise his hand so he could run it through that ridiculously long mane of his.</p><p>“You heard what Jack said, didn’t you?” Sam asked, fixing his brother with an intense, piercing look. All of a sudden, his voice sounded a lot stronger, steadier, like he’d finally managed to regain control over his emotions. “His plan, Dean, it’s…” He shook his head, pursing his lips, like he was searching for the right word to finish that sentence with. Eventually, he settled on, “There’s just too much that could go wrong.”</p><p>Dean huffed. “You think I didn’t get that? You think I didn’t hear all the times he said he doesn’t know if this’ll even <em>work? </em>I was <em>there, </em>Sam. Of course I know this isn’t gonna be a fucking walk in the park, but I’m still doing it. I’m going to the Empty.”</p><p>Sam’s face fell again, and he winced, looking like Dean had actually struck him somehow. He looked absolutely crestfallen again, his eyes all big and pleading, and really, Dean was getting freaking whiplash from all the changes and shifts in his brother's demeanor. It really looked like Sam just couldn’t decide how he should be acting right now, like he couldn’t choose between feeling sad, desperate or frustrated.</p><p>“Seriously, what the fuck’s gotten into you?” Dean asked before his brother could say anything else. “Sam, this is our chance to save Cas. <em>Cas!</em> You <em>do</em> remember him, don’t you?”</p><p>Sam flinched again, then shook his head. “Dean, I get it, okay? Seriously, I do. But you’re grieving, and you’re not thinking straight, so if you do this now, if you go to the Empty and something goes wrong…” He shook his head, and his voice failed, breaking, like the words got caught in his throat on the way out.</p><p>Finally, he finished with a low, hoarse, “If this whole Empty thing goes sideways, you’re not going to back down and save yourself, not when you’re like this. There’s a pretty big chance that you might not make it back.”</p><p>Dean swallowed drily, taking a short moment to think over his brother’s words, feeling a little stunned as the pieces suddenly started to fit together in his head.</p><p>
  <em>So <strong>that’s</strong> what this is all about, then.</em>
</p><p>“Well, that’s a risk I’m willing to take,” was Dean’s quiet, gentle answer. “Sam, I can’t just leave him there. If there’s even the smallest chance that I can get Cas out of that place, that I can bring him <em>back</em>, then I’m taking it.”</p><p>“And if something goes wrong?” Sam asked, voice just as quiet and tentative, his words struggled, like it was taking him a tremendous amount of effort to do something as simple as speaking. “If that amulet doesn’t work, or you just can’t find Cas, or the Shadow finds you first? What if you can't cut out his Grace in the Empty? Or what if you just die as soon as you get there? Then what?”</p><p>Those were all very possible outcomes to Jack’s plan, and Dean knew that. He <em>knew,</em> of course, and he’d been trying <em>not </em>to think about them too much, to not dwell on them for too long, or else the feeble spark of hope that’d been growing inside of him over the past few hours might simply wither away and die, and he definitely couldn’t have that—not now, after he'd <em>finally</em> allowed himself to hope. He just couldn’t let that happen now. He <em>couldn't</em>.</p><p>But apparently, he wouldn’t be getting a choice here. Sam was going to make him talk about this, about all the ways that Jack's plan could go wrong, whether he liked it or not.</p><p>With a tired sigh, Dean raised a hand, rubbing it over his beard, feeling it rough and scratchy against the skin of his palm. For a moment, he felt his heart tight and heavy inside his chest, felt that same sharp guilt he’d been growing awfully familiar with during the past few weeks filling him once again, coiling in his gut like a venomous snake, because again, it wasn’t like he didn’t understand where Sam was coming from, like he didn’t <em>get </em>it.</p><p>Sam was worried about him—and that was perfectly understandable. Really, it was <em>expected. </em>If their roles were reversed, Dean knew that he would be pretty freaking worried too. Hell, he probably would also be trying to convince Sam <em>not </em>to do this, saying that they needed to think about it more, or maybe even try to find another way.</p><p>But their roles <em>weren’t </em>reversed, and no matter how much it hurt to look into Sam’s wide, sad, pleading eyes, to see all the fear and pain that were so clearly painted all over his brother’s face, all that Dean could really think about in that moment was that void, that emptiness he could feel inside of him, growing bigger with every day that passed. He thought about that weight he’d been carrying around inside his chest for over a month now, that dull, unrelenting pain that absolutely refused to leave him alone, and that seemed to reach so deep inside of him, it might as well be coming from his very soul.</p><p>He thought about feeling lost and useless, without a purpose. He recalled how many days he’d spent locked up in his room, hiding away from the rest of the world, just feeling sorry for himself, drowning in all his pain and grief, asking himself what was even the <em>point?</em></p><p>He wasn’t even living anymore—no, he was just… just <em>existing</em> at this point, with no hopes of getting better, of snapping out of it and getting himself back up on his feet anytime soon.</p><p>And he just couldn’t go back to that. He <em>wouldn’t</em>.</p><p>If he did… well, Sam might end up losing him anyway. It would just take longer that way.</p><p>So he shook his head, feeling his eyes burning, and while he did try to keep his voice calm and steady, his words still came out strained, nothing more than a low, pained whisper. “Then I guess that’s it.”</p><p>That was clearly not the answer Sam wanted to hear, and the look in those big hazel eyes of his grew even more desperate.</p><p>“Dean, after everything we’ve been through, everything we did, you can’t just…” His voice broke, failing again, and he shook his head, as if trying to organize his thoughts, or maybe reel his emotions back in, trying to regain at least <em>some</em> control over them. “I can’t lose you—not now. I can’t…”</p><p>Dean felt his heart clench inside his chest, and a pained wince took over his features, but he was quick to shake his head, snapping himself out of it. No matter how much it hurt to see Sam like this, to hear the fear, the <em>pain</em> in his little brother’s voice, that still didn’t change anything.</p><p>He had to do this. He <em>had</em> to.</p><p>And there was nothing that his brother could say to him right now that would be enough to change his mind about that.</p><p>So Dean sighed, taking a few steps forward so that he was standing right in front of his brother. “Sam, you listen to me,” he started, making sure to hold Sam’s intense, piercing gaze as he talked. “I’m gonna go to the Empty, I’m gonna find Cas, and then I’m gonna come back. I’m gonna <em>bring him back.</em> That’s what’s gonna happen, you hear me? There’s no need for any of this.”</p><p>But Sam still didn’t seem convinced, and by that point, his brother’s eyes were actually shining a little, slowly filling up with tears.</p><p>The sight of it was like a stab right through Dean’s heart.</p><p>“Dean, you need to think about this. We need to talk more, maybe find another way. You can’t just—”</p><p>“There <em>isn’t</em> another way, Sam!” Dean argued, and maybe his words came out a little too loud, too sharp, but he just needed his brother to <em>understand. </em>“Do you really think I haven’t looked for one? That there’s been even a <em>single</em> day since we beat Chuck that I haven’t thought about this? Or that I haven’t gone through every single goddamn book I could find in this place that could possibly have a way to pull an angel from the Empty? Do you <em>really</em> think that I haven’t been trying to find another <em>fucking </em>way for a whole damn <em>month?”</em></p><p>Sam pressed his lips together, eyes widening a bit. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting that outburst from Dean right now, and it looked like he wasn’t sure how to react to it.</p><p>But that wasn’t enough to make Dean stop.</p><p>“And I mean, didn’t you hear what Jack said? The Shadow’s not letting Cas just waltz out of that place like he did last time. Even <em>Jack</em> can’t just pull him out of there, and he’s literally <em>God </em>now. This is our <em>only </em>shot. We can’t just sit around and talk about it some more, because sooner rather than later, the Shadow’s gonna be done putting everyone back to sleep, and that’ll be that. We’re not gonna get a chance like this again, so we <em>have </em>to take it. Because if we don’t, then it’s over. Cas is gone, and that’s it. That’s the end of it.”</p><p>The only response Sam offered him was the clenching of his jaw as he gritted his teeth together, so once again, Dean kept going.</p><p>He shook his head, allowing his voice to earn a lower, much more gentle tone. “Look, I get it, okay? I get that you want me to get better, that you want me to just be happy that we beat Chuck, that we won—really, I do. And honestly, I <em>want </em>to feel like that. I want to just sit back and smile, just pop open a cold one and celebrate that we fucking <em>won.</em> That’s <em>all</em> I wanted, these past few weeks. And believe me, I tried. I tried to get better. I tried to move on, to do <em>something </em>with my sad, pathetic little life, because if I don’t do that, if I just throw in the towel and give up, then Cas died for nothing. But I <em>can’t</em> do this anymore, Sam. I can’t…”</p><p>His voice failed, and he shook his head, feeling his throat growing uncomfortably tight. He actually had to swallow a couple times, trying to get rid of the lump that he could feel there, trying to get his voice to work again. The fact that he could feel his heart racing, beating so fast inside his chest that it might as well be hammering away in his freaking throat, probably wasn’t helping.</p><p>“I get that you’re happy, Sam. I mean, you got Eileen back. I know you really care about her—hell, maybe you even love her already, I don’t know. All I know is that I could see how miserable you were when you thought she wasn’t coming back. But she did, and I’m so freaking happy for you. Really, I am, because that’s what you <em>deserve. </em>You deserve to be happy, and to choose whatever the hell you want to do with your life. Really, you <em>do. </em>But it’s just… it’s just not that easy for me.”</p><p>He swallowed again, still finding it pretty damn hard to get the words out, to sort through the unruly thunderstorm of thoughts and emotions that were currently wreaking havoc in his mind. There was just so much to say here, so many things that Dean had been keeping bottled up inside of him for weeks, months—hell, for <em>years, </em>all of it piling up high inside of him, just begging to be let out. He'd spent so long just battling against it, shoving it all down as deep as it would go, so that none of those thoughts would ever see the light of day.</p><p>And that certainly wasn't about to change now.</p><p>Because he just couldn't deal with that right now—both because he didn't want to, and because he just didn't have that kind of time to spare. Sure, depending on how Jack's plan went, Dean might end up having no other choice but to open up to Sam, to have the <em>one</em> conversation with his brother that he'd vowed to himself he would never have, that he'd pretty much run away from throughout his whole damn life. The single thought of it was already enough to have his stomach flipping, feeling like it was tied up in freaking knots.</p><p>But there was still a chance that Jack's plan might not work—and in that case, well... Dean would just rather <em>not</em> deal with this at all, thank you very much.</p><p>And the thing was—it wasn't even that he thought Sam would judge him, or that he was scared of his brother's reaction—really, that wasn't it. Sam was one of the most understanding, most accepting people that Dean knew, and he was pretty damn proud of him for it.</p><p>No, he just... fuck, he just didn't want to deal with it. He never had, which was exactly why he'd always kept this part of himself hidden, locked away where nobody could see it. And he wasn't ashamed of it, either—at least not anymore. He'd had a pretty rough time dealing with this for most of his life, but he was mostly okay with it now, with just a few mild, increasingly rare hiccups every once in a while.</p><p>He just didn't want people to see him any differently, if that made any sense, and that included his brother. Sam might be understanding and accepting, but if Dean actually spoke to him about this, if Sam <em>knew</em>, then things would <em>change—</em>probably not too much, but still... things would be different. There was just no way that they wouldn't—or at least Dean just couldn't see a way that they wouldn't.</p><p>And the single thought of it terrified him, right down to his very core.</p><p>Still, he knew that he had to at least give Sam <em>something </em>right now, or else his brother simply wouldn't get off his case, so he took a moment to search through the chaotic mess that currently made up his thoughts, until he was finally able to find something that he could share with Sam—the <em>one</em> thing he was feeling right now that his brother would understand, and maybe even relate to.</p><p>Guilt—something that they both knew all too well.</p><p>“I have to do this, Sam. Every day that goes by, I just… I feel useless. I feel lost, because I just don’t know what to do with my life—but I <em>can</em> do this. And <em>I </em>have to be the one to do it. I have to be the one to go to the Empty, not you. And you know why? Because it was <em>my </em>fault. Everything that happened that day was <em>my own damn fault. </em>I’m the one who wanted to go after Billie, and okay, yeah, Cas was the one who offered to go with me, but it still was <em>my </em>idea. I got us into that mess. If it wasn’t for me, Billie would never have come after us. She was about to kill me—she had my heart in this… this invisible grip, and she was just… just <em>squeezing </em>it. I felt like it was about to burst, right inside my chest, but Cas did everything he could to save me—pretty much carried me across the whole damn Bunker to get me away from her, until we… we got to this room.”</p><p>His voice failed then, breaking a little around those last few words, but Dean swallowed a couple times and forced himself to keep going, even if he could feel his head spinning and his hands shaking at having to relive those memories. His heart felt tight and heavy, painfully so, much like it had that day—only this time, he couldn’t blame Billie for it.</p><p>Suddenly, he realized that this was the first time he was actually <em>talking </em>about that day—or at least in so much detail, and not just saying a couple of vague sentences like he’d done when he’d met up with Sam and Jack again, after everything happened with Billie. He hadn’t been able to do that before, and honestly, he had no idea how the fuck he was doing it now—especially since he was standing right there, in the <em>same fucking room</em> where it all went down, only a few feet away from the spot where Cas had died right in front of his eyes.</p><p>Maybe he could thank the tiny, flickering spark of hope that he could feel simmering inside of him for that—the one that’d burst to life when Jack had first popped up in his motel room and that, no matter how hard he tried to fight it, had only grown since then.</p><p>“He blocked her powers, with a sigil—drew it with his blood, right on that fucking door." He raised his hand, pointing to his right, in the general direction where the door should be. "But Billie wasn’t giving up—she was pounding on the door and the sigil was starting to give, and suddenly I knew… I knew that was it, for both of us. I knew we weren’t gonna make it out of this room alive. But Cas…”</p><p>His voice failed again, but this time, it actually hurt, like his vocal cords had snapped under the strain of retelling the horrible, heart-wrenching events of that day. He winced, closing his eyes when he felt them stinging again, but no matter how many deep, steadying breaths he pulled into his lungs, his heart just didn’t seem willing to calm down. The pain in his chest was getting pretty damn awful by that point, like some of his ribs had cracked and were now digging into his heart with every beat.</p><p>“Dean, you don’t have to tell me.”</p><p>When Dean opened his eyes again, he found that Sam’s eyes were still shining, but all the frustration that he’d seen in them earlier was long gone. Now, all that Dean could see in his little brother’s eyes was pain, <em>agony</em>, and <em>fuck</em>, that only made this whole thing even <em>worse.</em></p><p>“You don’t have to say it—what he had to do,” Sam insisted, voice coming out low and breathy, strained. It sounded like once again, he could barely even get just a handful of words past his lips—but for an entirely different reason this time. “Whatever it was… it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.”</p><p>Dean really couldn’t help it—he winced, a pained, ugly thing that twisted his features for a second without his permission, because holy <em>shit,</em> Sam had no freaking idea just how <em>wrong </em>he was.</p><p>Because it mattered—it fucking <em>mattered, </em>more than anything else, and yet Dean couldn’t even <em>think </em>about it, couldn’t even put what’d happened that day into words without feeling like he might actually throw up, or even pass out from all the pain<em>.</em></p><p>But no matter how hard this was for him, how much it hurt to even just <em>talk</em> about this, he still shook his head and powered through, forcing his next words out of his mouth before they could die in his throat, before his voice could fail him again.</p><p>“That damn deal he made,” he started, and his voice sounded wrecked, croaky and painfully hoarse, but he didn’t let that stop him, “When he summoned the Empty, he didn’t…” He paused, licking his dry lips and shaking his head, trying to find the right words, to figure out the safest way to put this.</p><p>Finally, he settled on, “It wasn’t something that he <em>did—</em>I mean, it <em>was, </em>but… the Empty only came to take him because of <em>me.”</em></p><p>Sam had been quiet throughout Dean’s entire speech, simply watching his brother with those big, teary eyes of his, but those last few words had him frowning, and when Dean didn’t elaborate on them right away, he shook his head. “What?”</p><p>“Cas didn’t just die for me. He died <em>because </em>of me.”</p><p>Because that’s what happened, wasn’t it? Sure, Dean <em>had</em> been the reason why they were being chased by Billie in the first place, but that wasn’t what had actually gotten Cas killed. No, Cas had died because of that damn fucking deal, and Dean was <em>also</em> the reason why Cas had even been able to summon the Empty in the first place, why he’d even fulfilled his end of the deal at all. Regardless of how or why they’d ended up in that dreadful situation, no matter which way you looked at it, the bottom line was always the same—if it wasn’t for Dean, Cas would still be here. He’d still be <em>alive.</em></p><p>Everything—literally <em>everything </em>that’d happened that day had been <em>his</em> fault.</p><p>That definitely wasn’t the first time Dean had thought about this, but just like every other time that particular train of thought had crossed his mind over the past few weeks, it felt like a freaking stab right to his heart, like there was a blade lodged between his ribs, digging deeper into his chest with every breath he took, causing a pain so deep and horrible that it made his hands shake and his stomach turn, that it had a powerful, almost overwhelming wave of nausea flooding his insides so fast that he feared he might actually throw up right then and there, all over the freaking floor, but he did his best to swallow it all down and not let any of that show.</p><p>Sam’s eyes were dancing all over Dean’s face, moving so quickly that it almost looked like he might be having a freaking stroke, like there were a million thoughts running through his head in that moment. There was mostly confusion in his gaze, obviously, like he was trying really freaking hard to put all the pieces of this puzzle together, like he was grasping at freaking straws, desperately trying to understand what exactly Dean was trying to say here. But of course, he wouldn’t be able to do that.</p><p>He was missing a few pieces of that puzzle, and Dean was certainly not going to give them to him.</p><p>At that thought, he shook his head, tearing his gaze away from Sam and pulling in a deep, steadying breath, letting his eyes slip closed as he tried to reel in all the emotions that were currently raging up a storm inside of him. It took him a little while, but eventually, he finally felt like he’d gotten himself under control again and that there was no longer a risk of any tears actually slipping out of his eyes, so he pulled in another breath and finally allowed himself to turn his head back around.</p><p>And then his heart all but shattered into a million tiny little pieces when he looked at his brother again.</p><p>The look he found in Sam’s eyes was… shattered, broken—<em>haunted</em>, almost. They were filled with tears, shining blatantly under the limited brightness provided by the handful of light bulbs that hung from the ceiling only a few feet above their heads. Sam looked so freaking <em>sad, </em>so utterly devastated that Dean felt his chest clench painfully just from looking at him.</p><p>But at least he seemed to get it now. No matter how risky Jack’s plan was, no matter how many things could go wrong, Dean simply wasn’t going to change his mind about this. There was just nothing that Sam could do about that, or anything that he could say that would be enough to convince Dean <em>not</em> to do this—and he finally seemed to understand that.</p><p>That didn’t mean Sam looked <em>happy</em> about it, though—but really, there wasn’t anything that <em>Dean</em> could do about that.</p><p>So he took another step forward, raising a hand so he could place it on Sam's shoulder. He gave it a small, gentle squeeze and forced his lips to shape themselves around what he’d intended as a soothing, reassuring smile, but even he could tell that it came out a little off. That smile felt wrong on his face, empty and unconvincing, but there was nothing he could do about that, either.</p><p>“I’m gonna come back,” he repeated, doing his best to keep his voice from shaking, to keep it even and steady. It came out firmer than he’d expected, carrying more confidence than he actually felt inside of him, which was good. “This isn’t my first rodeo, Sam, and you know that. I can do this. I know I can. But…” He paused, swallowing thickly, and his next words we a little harder to let out. “But if I don’t come back, if this whole thing goes sideways, I just… I just want you to know that this was my choice. I’m doing this because <em>I </em>want to. I know the risks, but I’m still going to do it, and that’s <em>my </em>choice. Just… don’t forget that, okay?”</p><p>Sam’s eyes were a bit glassy again, still shiny and filled with unshed tears, but there was something else to be found in his gaze now, something new—resignation, it looked like. He clenched his jaw a couple times, eyes boring into Dean’s so intensely that the eldest Winchester actually had to force himself to hold his gaze, to stop himself from looking away, until Sam finally nodded—slowly, tightly. He clearly wasn’t happy about it, but he was backing down, finally relenting, and that’s what mattered to Dean.</p><p>Before his brother could say anything else, though; before that silence could stretch on for too long and Sam could change his mind about this, Dean gave him another heavy pat on the shoulder and a slow, tense nod, then stepped around his brother and quickly made his leave, darting out of the dungeon as fast as his feet and wounded leg would allow. He knew he still had some spell ingredients to find, but he couldn’t just get back to it now, couldn’t just resume his search while Sam was still in there. If he did, his brother might try to get him talking again, and Dean really didn’t want to deal with that—not to mention that the air inside that room was getting way too heavy and stifling, and he just really needed to take a breather.</p><p>He made it to his room quickly enough, even with his leg still bothering him, then closed the door as soon as he was inside and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling his heart beating fast and frantic inside his chest. There was way too much energy building up inside of him all of a sudden, filling him up to the fucking brim, so he started pacing, taking a few laps around the limited space of his room, making his way back and forth between the door and the farthest wall about a dozen times, trying to calm himself down enough so that he could think about what he should do next.</p><p>On his bed, Miracle perked up at the sight of him, brown eyes big and curious, but the dog didn’t get up or try to come any closer to Dean, probably sensing that this really wasn’t a good time for that.</p><p>There were about a million thoughts running through Dean’s head in that moment, a million emotions wreaking havoc inside of him and making his head spin, but one particular train of thought lingered in the forefront of his mind, standing out amongst all the others, and he really couldn’t find it in himself to push it away.</p><p>Yeah, okay, it really seemed like Sam had gotten it now. He'd apparently understood that Dean <em>had </em>to do this, and that there was nothing that he could do to convince him otherwise, but what if Sam changed his mind about this? What if he started insisting again? What if he started asking too many questions, enough for <em>Dean </em>to start having doubts as well? Or worse—what if he started asking questions that Dean <em>couldn’t </em>answer? What then?</p><p>Dean really wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. He definitely hadn't accounted for Sam putting so much of a fight, trying so hard to convince him not to go through with Jack's plan. Not to mention that even now, while Dean was here, just pacing around in his room and freaking out on his own, he was wasting <em>time. </em>The Shadow could be done putting all those angels and demons back to sleep at any moment now, and once that happened, Dean’s chances of going unnoticed when Jack slipped him into the Empty, of <em>succeeding </em>at doing what he had to do to bring Cas back<em>, </em>were reduced to almost zero.</p><p>And he couldn’t have that. He <em>couldn’t.</em></p><p>He couldn't deal with this, not now. He didn't have <em>time</em> for this—for Sam's incessant coddling, for Eileen's charged, loaded looks, for all the questions that those two undoubtedly still had for him. He had to get moving, before he missed his window, before it was too late. He'd already wasted too much time.</p><p>He couldn't stay here. He had to fucking <em>go</em>.</p><p>So for the second time this week, Dean found himself making a decision that was sure to upset Sam, and that his brother most definitely wouldn’t agree with, but Dean really couldn’t think of a better way to do this. He couldn’t take any risks right now, not with this. Sam had to understand that, even if he didn’t know everything.</p><p>Mind suddenly made up, Dean crossed the room again in a couple of big, hurried strides. He moved quickly, hastily, and before he could think better of it, before his nerves could catch up to him and his resolve could waver, he pulled his closet door open and pushed several pieces of clothing aside, shoving every flannel shirt and pair of pants that he could see out of the way until he finally found the one item he’d hidden away deep in the back of his closet about a month ago, so that he wouldn’t have to look at it every day when he peeked inside his closet, so that he might save himself from the merciless, unforgiving pain that he felt inside of him every single time his eyes found the bloody handprint that still marked the fabric of his beloved green jacket.</p><p>He reached out with an unsteady, trembling hand and closed his fist around the familiar stretch of fabric. He pulled it slowly, carefully, letting out a small, shaky breath as soon as his eyes found the bloody handprint still staining the left shoulder. His eyes were burning again, and he had to close them and pull in a deep breath to try and get himself under back control, swallowing a couple times because yep, there it was—he definitely wanted to throw up right now.</p><p>But he shook his head, harshly reminding himself <em>why </em>exactly he was getting that jacket out of the closet now, trying to push that particularly excruciating memory out of his mind as he opened his eyes again and closed the closet door quickly, with a little more force than necessary. The loud bang it produced echoed through the air for a moment, breaking the eerie stillness that had fallen over the Bunker, but it faded away soon enough.</p><p>He paused once the closet door was closed and he found himself just standing there, gripping that jacket so tightly in his hands that it might as well be a lifeline, the only thing currently tethering him to this Earth. He looked down at it, feeling his chest uncomfortably tight and his stomach tied up in knots, his throat suddenly feeling far too dry. A fresh wave of fear washed over him as he recalled the doubt he’d seen so clearly in Jack’s eyes, that he’d heard in the boy's voice when he'd asked if Cas’ blood could be used for the spell instead of his Grace, and Dean was suddenly reminded of the fact that even if he did manage to get all the other ingredients for Rowena’s spell, there was still a chance that the spell wouldn’t work.</p><p>But he pushed those thoughts away as soon as they came, shaking his head with a pained grimace and cursing himself in his mind.</p><p>He couldn’t let himself think like that, not now. He just couldn’t afford it, couldn’t allow his resolve to waver in any way. He couldn’t have any <em>doubts</em> right now. If this didn’t work, he just… he had no idea what would happen to him. He just couldn’t handle it. He couldn't even <em>think</em> about it.</p><p>But there was no need to be thinking about this, because Jack's plan would work. It would.</p><p>It <em>had </em>to.</p><p>He moved quickly after that, hands tightening around the fabric of his jacket once he realized that his duffel wasn’t there, so he spun back around and opened the closet door again, reaching inside to grab the backpack that he rarely ever used, then called out for Miracle to follow him as he quickly made his way out of his room and across the Bunker, heading back to the dungeon with his anxiety skyrocketing and his heart beating in his freaking throat.</p><p>Sam wasn’t there anymore, and Dean actually breathed out a big sigh of relief as soon as he walked into the darkened room, flicking on the lights and finding it empty. All the ingredients he’d put aside were still there, all neatly lined up on top of the small table in the corner, along with Rowena’s list and Jack’s amulet, all of them exactly as he’d left them.</p><p>Silently praying that he wouldn't be interrupted again, Dean got to work quickly, moving through the room like a freaking hurricane, sifting through the shelves as fast as he could until he finally had most of the ingredients for Rowena’s spell set aside—and fortunately, they <em>did</em> have enough rosemary, which had been misplaced in a box that contained several types of wood and dried-up leaves from a few rare trees, originated from all over the world.</p><p>He <em>might</em> have been the one to do that, now that he thought about it.</p><p>And once he was done with searching for ingredients, just as he’d predicted, he was only missing three things from the list—the blood, the bone, and of course, Cas’ Grace. He had a possible substitute for the last one—and he hoped with everything he had in him that Cas’ dry, one-month-old blood would work—but he still needed to go after the other two, and that’s exactly what he planned on doing next.</p><p>So he packed up his bag, carefully placing all the spell ingredients, along with his precious green jacket, Rowena’s list and Jack’s amulet, into his backpack and zipping it up quickly. He threw the bag over his shoulder and made a break for the door, ready to leave, though he paused once he reached it, standing just inside the room with his hand hovering over the light switch.</p><p>He threw another glance into the room—past all the shelves that made up the Men of Letters’ storage area, until his eyes landed on the familiar chair that he could see at the end of the room, placed by the farthest wall, resting right at the center of the Devil’s Trap that adorned the otherwise-completely-bare cement floor of the dungeon.</p><p>He swallowed drily at the sight of it, remembering the cold feeling of the metal against his skin the last time he’d touched it, the last time he’d rested his hands onto it. He’d been desperate at the time, hopeless as he’d apologized to Cas for leading both of them into yet another trap, and for probably getting both of them killed while Billie repeatedly slammed her fist against that door, insistently pounding against the wood, slowly but surely chipping away at the warding that Cas had so desperately placed around that room, with his own freaking blood.</p><p>And of course, that memory came accompanied by a tight, uncomfortable feeling in his chest and by a powerful, overwhelming wave of nausea that flooded his insides way too fast and that almost had him doubling over right then and there. He suddenly felt like his heart weighted a freaking ton inside his chest, like he was about to just spill the contents of his stomach all over the freaking floor as he stared at the spot where it all happened, at the last place he’d seen Cas alive.</p><p><em>Not for long, though, </em>he told himself harshly, angrily, quickly pushing that memory away—and fuck, how many times had he had to do that just in the last few hours? <em>I'm doing this. I’m bringing him back. I’m going to the freaking Empty, and I’m getting him <strong>back.</strong></em></p><p>Gritting his teeth together, Dean held on to the tiny spark of hope that was still burning inside of him, small as it may be, and flicked off the lights inside that room, calling for Miracle again and closing the door behind himself once the two of them were standing out in the hallway.</p><p>Jack had zapped him to the Bunker earlier, and he hadn’t exactly had the chance to unpack since he’d gotten here, so his duffel and all of his guns were already in the Impala, all ready to go. Dean had only asked that Jack didn’t leave Miracle stuck inside the car, because that was just cruel, not to mention a recipe for disaster—meaning, it would probably result in some chewed up leather seats, and in quite a lot of dog piss (and maybe even some poop) adorning the inside of his car when he got back—but all of the dog’s things should also still be in the car, so he was pretty much ready to hit the road.</p><p>At that thought, Dean quickly made his way through the Bunker, headed for the garage. He knew Sam would be pissed about this, but he couldn’t bring himself to go over to his brother’s room right now. He wouldn’t say goodbye, wouldn’t tell him that he was leaving and pull his brother into a long, tight parting hug. He knew he could do this. He was gonna make it back, and he was gonna bring Cas back with him. There was just no other way that this was gonna go.</p><p>He would make damn sure of that.</p><p>He didn’t run into anyone as he walked down the few hallways that connected the dungeon to the main area of the Bunker, and he was pretty glad for that, but his luck seemed to run out the moment he walked into the war room and found that it wasn’t as empty as he’d hoped.</p><p>No, Eileen was still there, sitting at the map table, but she’d switched sides at some point and was now sitting at the other side of the table, so that she was facing the door that led to the kitchen, which put her in a position that assured no matter which way you came from when you walked into that room, from either the hallway by the stairs or the library, there was just no way that she wouldn’t notice it.</p><p>That seemed like a very deliberate decision, and Dean’s steps faltered as soon as that thought registered in his head. He suddenly felt like he’d just been caught with his hand stuck inside the cookie jar, and his eyes grew a little wider as he stared at her, heart practically skipping a beat inside his chest. He was pretty sure he must look like a deer in headlights in that moment, and it definitely took him a few seconds too long to school his features and try to cover up his slightly panicked reaction.</p><p>The look he found in Eileen’s was… difficult to read. There was a note of warmth in her gaze that Dean really wasn’t sure what to make of, and on top of that, as soon as he stopped walking, as soon as Eileen seemed to notice how tense he became the moment he saw her, she offered him a small, gentle smile, like she was trying to soothe his nerves somehow.</p><p>That didn’t really work, though, and once again, Dean felt like he may be about to throw up all over the freaking floor, but for an entirely different reason this time. His stomach was pretty much <em>fluttering </em>with nerves, and his anxiety skyrocketed as he tried and failed to predict what exactly was going to happen next, what she could possibly want to say to him right now.</p><p>Fortunately, he didn't have to wait too long to find out.</p><p>“He didn’t convince you,” Eileen commented after a beat, when it became obvious that Dean had no freaking idea what to say to her, though she didn’t sound disappointed at all. She almost sounded like she’d expected that outcome, somehow, like she wasn’t surprised at all to see him making a break for it with Miracle at his heels and a bag slung over his shoulder.</p><p>Dean shook his head at her, swallowing once to make sure his voice wouldn’t betray him this time, that it wouldn’t come out all croaky and weird—although that didn't really matter in this case, he supposed—before he said, “I have to do this.”</p><p>“I know,” she replied easily, calmly, offering him a small nod. Her eyes still seemed warm, gentle, and her smile grew just a tiny bit wider, actually showing teeth as she said, “I’ll try to do some damage control around here.”</p><p>For a moment, Dean was stunned. For one, because he definitely wasn’t expecting to hear that from Eileen right now—no, when he’d first seen her sitting there, he’d been pretty sure that she’d side with Sam and try to change his mind about this, that maybe his brother might have even <em>asked</em> her to do it, might have put her up to this, so Dean was pretty freaking surprised to realize that wasn’t the case here.</p><p>But secondly, that <em>look </em>she was giving him—that warm, <em>understanding </em>look, it had Dean feeling pretty freaking uncomfortable, because it reminded him of how she’d been looking at him throughout the past few weeks, sneaking furtive little glances at him at every single chance she got, like she knew something that he didn’t, or maybe like she knew <em>too</em> much. He’d definitely not been a fan of those looks over the past couple of weeks, but he hated it even more now, when his emotions were running so high, when there was just so much going on inside his head that he was pretty freaking worried that he might be letting a little too much show—and fuck if that thought wasn’t absolutely <em>terrifying.</em></p><p>But she didn’t actually know anything—there was just no way that she did. There was just <em>no way. </em>Sure, Eileen had been around for a while now—they’d met her what, four years ago? And yeah, okay, she’d been dead for some of that, but she’d been back for at least a year at this point—and yet, that was <em>definitely</em> not long enough for her to have figured anything out. If <em>Sam</em> didn’t know, then there was just no freaking way that she did. Dean had always been so <em>careful</em>.</p><p>There was just no way that she knew. No way.</p><p>But then why the <em>fuck </em>was she looking at him like that? Like they shared a secret, somehow? Like she knew more than she was letting on? Why was she acting like this?</p><p>Suddenly feeling cornered, Dean shifted his weight on his feet and swallowed again. He cleared his throat, offering Eileen a couple of tense nods, before he finally managed to let out a low, weak, “Thanks.” He looked down at Miracle, trying to find the strength to keep talking. He would very much prefer to be talking down to his shoes right now, but Eileen needed him to be looking at her in order to understand him, so he forced himself to raise his head and meet her eyes again. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for. Actually, if I’m being honest, I… I don’t even know if I’m gonna come back.”</p><p>Some of the warmth he’d seen in Eileen’s eyes faded at those words, and her smile vanished. She pressed her lips into a tight, thin line, but there was still a clear hint of understanding in her gaze, and she offered him another slow, careful nod. “Sam will be pretty mad if I tell him I didn’t try to stop you, or that I didn't make you promise that you’ll do your best to come back, even if things go wrong and you have to bail on Jack’s plan to save your own life. But I know you’re not gonna make that promise, are you? Even if I beg you to?”</p><p>Dean clenched his jaw a couple times, but eventually shook his head in a wordless, yet unmistakably negative response.</p><p>Once again, Eileen didn’t seem even the slightest bit surprised. She nodded again, with that same intense, piercing look in her eyes that never failed to make Dean feel like he’d been put under a freaking microscope. With a small, halfhearted smile, she let out a soft, gentle, “Good luck, Dean.”</p><p>Despite everything, Dean still found himself smiling at her—a small, gentle thing that he hoped would convey at least <em>some</em> of the thankfulness that he was feeling inside.</p><p>When he decided that might not be enough, he raised his right hand, pressing his fingers gently to his chin for just a second before he lowered it, letting it move forward just a little bit as he did it—mimicking a gesture he'd seen both Sam and Eileen do several times over the past year. He just hoped he was doing it right. He wasn't exactly fluent in ASL—far from it, really. Sure, he'd picked up on a few things from watching Sam and Eileen interact, but his knowledge of it was still pretty freaking limited.</p><p>Feeling a little unsure about himself, Dean muttered a low, gentle, “Thank you,” just to make sure that Eileen would understand what he'd meant to say, and those two words came out stronger this time, more confident.</p><p>Eileen's mouth instantly curled into another smile, and it looked genuine this time, her eyes shining with something that Dean really didn't want to look too closely at, but that didn't look entirely happy—bittersweet, maybe, a hint of sadness clearly mingled in with everything else.</p><p>Dean decided not to dwell too much on that. Instead, he simply offered her a small, tense nod and another tight, toothless smile, and then he was making a break for it, picking Miracle up from the floor once he reached the stairs and carrying the dog the rest of the way to his car.</p><p>His steps halted the moment he laid his eyes on the Impala, though. Damn, his Baby looked absolutely <em>filthy</em>, covered in a consistent, thick layer of dust that'd probably settled over her during his latest road trip, tainting her otherwise perfect, polished black paint, taking away her usual shine. The sight of her made Dean feel really freaking awful. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd let her get this dirty—it'd probably been a couple of years, at least.</p><p>He didn't have the time to fix that now, though—or even the presence of mind for it, if he was being honest. After all, there was a pretty obvious reason why she'd even reached this state of abandonment, and that reason hadn't yet gone away.</p><p>But he was planning to fix that very, <em>very</em> soon.</p><p>"I'm so sorry, Baby," he whispered as he stepped over to her, pulling open one of the back doors so that he could put Miracle inside. Once that was done, he closed the door and raised a hand, using it to knock softly on Baby's roof. "I promise I'll take care of all that filth once everything calms down, okay? Just... just bear with me for a little longer, alright?"</p><p>He didn't get answer, of course, but his heart felt just a tiny bit lighter inside his chest, which had been the point all along.</p><p>Once Miracle was comfortable in the backseat, Dean slipped into the driver's seat and settled in his spot behind the wheel. He dropped his bag onto the front passenger seat right beside him, then raised his hands and gripped the steering wheel in his fists, letting out a small sigh at the familiar feel of the leather under his hands, fingers fitting perfectly in the small creases that’d formed on it after so many years of wear.</p><p>He was all set to leave, with everything he needed packed into the backseat and all ready to go, but as he sat there, staring out the windshield with his hands poised on top of the wheel and his shoulders squared... Dean found himself hesitating.</p><p>When he’d done this back in Canton, he’d just needed a break. Sure, he hadn’t been sure when he would be ready to come back to the Bunker, and he hadn’t known when exactly he’d see Sam again, but he’d known that there <em>would </em>be a next time.</p><p>But he couldn’t say the same thing now.</p><p>If he actually did this, if he went off on his own to look for those last two ingredients, if he went down to Hell alone and then called Jack once the amulet was ready so that the nephilim-turned-God could just toss him in the Empty, and if <em>any</em> part of Jack's plan went wrong while he was over there… well, there was a pretty big chance that he would never see Sam again.</p><p>But he couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye to him, either. He just couldn’t bear it—the broken, shattered look that he knew he would see in his little brother’s eyes, the tears that would certainly make themselves present in no time at all, the long, lingering hug that they’d undoubtedly exchange, the choked-up words that would come out so broken and pained, it would truly be a wonder that Sam was even managing to speak at all.</p><p>Dean had had to deal with that exact same scene several times over the past fifteen years, which was exactly why he normally tried to avoid it, whenever he could. When he’d had the Mark of Cain and he’d been about to offer himself up to Death, he’d done exactly this—gone off on his own and without telling Sam, so that his brother wouldn’t be there to try and change his mind, to try to dissuade him from doing whatever he had to do to get rid of that curse. He just hadn’t had it in him to say goodbye.</p><p>And now he was doing the exact same thing—taking off in the middle of the night, without telling Sam, just so he wouldn’t have to deal with saying goodbye to him, or so he wouldn’t have to watch his brother so desperately try to change his mind about this.</p><p>But he had to do this, no matter how much it hurt. He couldn’t just sit around and wait to see if Sam would really come around, if he would actually <em>help</em> Dean getting everything he needed for that spell, or if he would just keep trying to dissuade him. He couldn’t stick around and have Sam keep pushing him, keep trying to get him to talk about his freaking<em> feelings, </em>because eventually, Dean knew he was bound to let something slip—and he couldn’t have that either. He <em>wouldn’t.</em></p><p>This was the best way—the <em>only </em>way.</p><p>Keeping that thought in the forefront of his mind and swallowing down all the nerves that were so insistently trying to climb their way up his throat, Dean shoved his key into the ignition and turned it, starting up the engine, then carefully maneuvered the Impala out of its parking spot and out of the garage.</p><p>And as soon as he was outside, Dean stepped down more eagerly onto the gas, practically flooring it as soon as he had an extension of dark, flat asphalt stretching out in front of him, filling the air with Baby’s loud, powerful roars as he put the Men of Letter’s Bunker in his rearview mirror.</p><p>
  <strong>*~*~*~*~*</strong>
</p><p>Dean drove for eight hours straight.</p><p>He’d placed a few calls to some hunters once he felt like he was far enough from Lebanon to pull over onto the side of the road and talk on the phone for a little while, and fortunately, his third call had proven itself pretty useful, and it’d led him here—to Sheridan, Wyoming. He drove through the whole night to get here, though, and he was pretty much dead on his feet by the time he finally rolled into town, so he had no other choice but to pull into the first motel he found and rent himself a room for the night.</p><p>Well, not exactly for the <em>night, </em>considering the sun had been about to rise up in the sky by the time Dean collapsed onto the bed and passed out, but he was up on his feet again just about three hours later. He’d picked up his phone soon after that, ignoring the painful twinge he felt in his heart at the sight of the countless missed calls and messages that he found staring back at him from the screen, and instead of doing anything about them, he used his phone to make one last call before he could actually set his latest plan into motion.</p><p>And once <em>that</em> was done, he threw on some decent clothes and marched out of his motel room. He was feeling so anxious and jittery that he didn’t even eat breakfast, since he was afraid that he probably wouldn't be able to keep it down, so all that he allowed himself to have was a gigantic cup of black coffee that he bought to-go at this tiny little coffee joint near the motel before he headed to a church only a few blocks away.</p><p>Sheridan was a pretty small town, so he got a few weird looks as he strode into the church and quickly made his way down the long, wide path between all the perfectly-polished wooden pews. He ignored them, though, and soon enough, he found himself standing by the front of the church, right by the altar, which was painted in several different colors and hues as the light from the early morning sun slipped into the church through the colored glass that adorned the windows.</p><p>He’d been instructed to knock on the door on the right, so that’s what he did, letting his knuckles rap softly against the wood, producing a low, hollow sound. He straightened himself up once that was done, pushing his hands into his pants pockets as he waited. He’d chosen to forgo the suit this time, and was instead going full civilian, with a pair of faded, simple plain jeans and a dark green flannel, since there was no need for him to pretend here, to try to pose as someone he wasn’t.</p><p>It didn’t take long for someone to answer the door, fortunately, as Dean was barely even managing to keep himself standing still as he waited, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet from both anxiety and impatience. There was a lot of energy building up inside of him, it seemed, even if he’d gotten less than four hours of sleep last night.</p><p>Fortunately, it didn’t take too long before that door was being pulled open from the inside and a small, blonde, round-faced nun was smiling kindly at him and asking if she could help him, to which Dean replied that he was there to see Father Jones, and that the priest was expecting him right now. The nun had inquired about his name, to which he’d answered truthfully for a change, then she asked him to wait outside while she went to check with Father Jones, but less than a minute later she was back, opening the door wide and motioning for Dean to come inside and follow her.</p><p>She led him down a couple of narrow hallways, the white paint that covered the walls on either side of them faded and peeling in some places, until she finally stopped and gestured at an open door to her left.</p><p>Dean nodded at her in thanks, and she answered with a gentle smile and a small nod of her own, before she turned around and walked away, vanishing from sight as she made a left turn at the end of the hallway. As soon as she was gone, Dean stepped over to the door she’d pointed at, knocking on the partially open door before he peeked inside.</p><p>The room he found on the other side of that door was small and a little cramped, with several dark, wooden shelves packed with what seemed to be religious texts and books. In the back of the room, there was a small desk completely covered in papers, behind which a man with thin grey hair, dark brown eyes and wearing a black cassock sat, a pen grasped in his hand.</p><p>“Father Jones?” Dean asked.</p><p>The man smiled, making the crow’s feet at the side of his eyes even more pronounced. He put his pen down gently onto the desk. “Dean Winchester, I’m guessing,” he said, his voice sounding a <em>lot </em>deeper than Dean had expected.</p><p>The hunter simply nodded, still lingering in the doorway, hesitating to actually step into the room that apparently served as a tiny office.</p><p>Father Jones offered him another crinkly smile, then raised a hand and waved it through the air. Even under such poor lighting, the man looked awfully pale—like a ghost, deep, dark bags marking the skin under his eyes. “Have a seat, Dean, and please close the door behind you.”</p><p>Dean did as he was told, finally stepping fully into the room and pushing the door closed behind him to give them just a little bit of privacy. Once that was done, he crossed the room with just a couple of small, short steps and lowered himself down onto one of the two chairs placed across the priest, on the other side of his desk.</p><p>Once he was seated, though, Dean still couldn’t quite get himself to relax. He shifted in his chair, letting his eyes take in the few pieces of art that hung from the walls, covering up the space that wasn't taken up by all the shelves—most of them paintings depicting angels. He wasn’t sure why, but after they’d found out angels were real, after the first Apocalypse and the whole thing with Heaven basically ruining their lives from the moment he and Sam had been born, with him being Michael’s true vessel and Sam being Lucifer's, Dean had never really felt… at ease inside churches anymore, and he couldn’t really explain why. He’d spent so long running from angels, hiding from Heaven… maybe a part of him was just always on high alert in these places—on holy ground, afraid that Heaven might find him more easily in here.</p><p>But he wasn’t hiding from Heaven at the moment, so there was no reason for him to feel so freaking uncomfortable right now.</p><p>The weird thing was, though—the last time he’d talked one-on-one with a priest, he’d had a weird moment where he just... where he'd felt more comfortable than he had in a long time in one of these places—so much that he’d actually said a hell of a lot more than he should, and he wasn’t even sure <em>why</em>. He’d been troubled, back then, struggling to resist the Mark, fighting its poisonous influence every single second of every day—which definitely hadn’t been easy, so maybe that explained it.</p><p>One of the things the Mark had absolutely <em>loved </em>to do was make Dean think about things he did <em>not </em>want to think about, pulling forward all the memories and feelings that he’d worked so hard to keep hidden for so many years, that he’d pushed away for so long, keeping them in the forefront of Dean’s mind as often as it possibly could, torturing him with them on a daily basis, like an itch he just couldn’t quite reach, no matter how hard he tried.</p><p>And that day, when he’d walked into that confession booth and started saying things that he’d sworn to himself he would <em>never</em> talk about, with <em>anyone, </em>he’d been so tired, so <em>worn. </em>He’d been nearing his tipping point with the Mark—and he guessed the fact that he’d killed Cain only a couple weeks prior must have had a hand in that. It’d definitely given the Mark an energy boost, making it all the more unbearable, and much more difficult to resist.</p><p>And <em>that</em> had led him to pour his heart out to a freaking priest, apparently.</p><p><em>“I don't know. I mean, just, you know, just... there's things, there's... people, <strong>feelings</strong> that I—I... I wanna experience differently than I have before,” </em>he’d said, just letting the words pour out of his mouth before he could think them over, before his brain had a chance to really catch up with what was happening. <em>“Or maybe even for the first time.”</em></p><p>He’d had a mini panic attack after that whole thing was done and he’d had to walk out of that booth like nothing happened, even if there was just no way that the priest could even know what exactly he'd been talking about—he'd been careful to be pretty freaking vague with everything he'd said, at least, so the guy had probably just ended up thinking that Dean was talking about some chick that he really wanted to get serious with or something. And it wasn't like the guy would tell anyone about what Dean had told him, anyway, since priests had that whole confidentiality vow and whatnot—but, well, Dean would be lying if he said he wasn't a little worried.</p><p>But in the end, there hadn't been any reason for Dean to be worried about that guy, since, well, he'd ended up dead later that same day, thanks to the ghost of that crazy nun who'd cut off her freaking finger so that some Italian guy could use it in a painting of her, because <em>that</em> was all kinds of fucking normal.</p><p>Crazy bitch.</p><p>“I have to say, Dean,” Father Jones started, snapping the hunter out of his thoughts. The man leaned forward a bit and placed his arms on top of his desk, folding his hands together and interlacing his fingers. “I was very surprised when I got that call from you this morning—asking for my help, of all things. From what I hear, you and your brother are both exceptionally well-versed in handling—well, basically anything.”</p><p>Dean offered him an apologetic, almost sheepish smile. “Well, Father, to be fair, I wasn’t completely honest with you when we spoke on the phone.”</p><p>The priest’s eyebrows rose slightly at that, and he seemed surprised. He pressed his lips together, looking pensive, then gave Dean a slow, careful nod. “Well, what really brings you here, then? I’m assuming it wasn’t a sudden burst of newfound faith. You hunters tend to lack quite a bit in that department, from what I’ve gathered.”</p><p>Dean gave a small, awkward little laugh at that.</p><p>He didn’t actually <em>know </em>Father Jones—in fact, he had never even heard of him before last night, when he’d called up a few hunters asking if they had a priest or a pastor that they could direct him to. But Dean couldn’t think of anyone else to call. It wasn’t like he <em>knew </em>any priests or pastors, not after Pastor Jim, who’d died what, fifteen years ago? So he’d had to resort to other hunters if he had any hopes of finding one that could help him.</p><p>And on his third phone call, Tori had directed Dean to this town, after telling him briefly about how she’d come to Sheridan about three years ago and helped Father Jones deal with a demon that had been targeting some faithful churchgoers from his congregation, taking advantage whenever one of them gave him an opening, preying on the fact that a lot of those people felt the need to help when they came across a homeless, starving man lying on the street during a cold, merciless winter, using their own generosity against them and killing them in a pretty brutal, awful way that was enough to make Dean a little nauseous.</p><p>He knew demons were cruel and twisted, but skinning people alive was a <em>whole</em> new level of sick.</p><p>But at least Dean did get something out of that story, since apparently, Father Jones was exactly the kind of man he needed right now—a man of faith, a priest who actually <em>knew </em>about what was out there, what kind of dangers lurked in the shadows—not because of his faith, but because he’d actually lived through it. So once that call was done, Dean had pulled back out onto the road and stepped down on the gas, pretty much flooring it all the way to Wyoming, driving through the night without getting even a single blink of sleep.</p><p>And now he was here.</p><p>“Actually, Father, I… I need a favor.”</p><p>Those words were enough to have the priest’s eyebrows rising curiously again. “Well, my interest is certainly piqued. What can I do for you, Mr. Winchester?”</p><p>Dean shifted in his chair again, licking his dry lips as he tried to figure out how exactly he wanted to do this—how he <em>should </em>do this.</p><p>Eventually, he decided that he should probably take it slow, and finally settled on a simple, yet sufficiently vague, “I’m working on a spell, and I’m a few ingredients short. But I… I’m pretty sure you can help me with one of them.”</p><p>That interested, curious look that had taken over the priest’s eyes was still there, still firmly in place, but instead of asking Dean what kind of ingredient he needed like the hunter had expected him to do, the next thing that came out of the man’s mouth was a calm, leveled, “And what would be the purpose of that spell, if you don’t mind me asking?”</p><p>Dean paused, swallowing drily at the direct, straightforward question. He’d imagined that Father Jones might want to know that, of course—he definitely had a right to, really, considering what exactly Dean was about to ask of him—but the hunter still found himself hesitating for a brief moment, debating with himself, trying to figure out the best way to do this.</p><p>He <em>could </em>lie—he knew that. Come to think of it, he probably <em>should </em>lie. That’s what he usually did in situations like this one, anyway, not to mention that it was normally the best, easiest, least complicated way to get what he wanted, so lying had pretty much become his knee-jerk reaction over the years.</p><p>But he’d thought about this, long and hard during his drive from Kansas all the way to freaking Wyoming, sitting on it for <em>hours </em>until eventually, he’d finally come to the conclusion that in this specific situation, maybe sticking to at least some partial truths might get things done faster—and more easily, too. Father Jones might be more inclined to help him that way, and again, Dean really couldn’t afford to waste any time here, so the quicker he got this whole thing done and over with, the better.</p><p>And anyway, Dean really didn’t know what the whole ‘given willingly’ thing actually entailed. Maybe he <em>could</em> lie to the guy about what his intentions were, or maybe that would influence in the outcome of the spell. Maybe ‘given willingly’ implied that this man needed to know what <em>exactly </em>he would be helping Dean accomplish, so he couldn’t take any risks here.</p><p>Keeping those thoughts in the forefront of his mind, Dean offered the man a small, awkward smile, preparing himself for the surprise, for the disbelief that he knew would certainly follow as soon as his next words were out of his mouth.</p><p>“Bringing a dead angel back to life.”</p><p>And there it was—the wide, shocked eyes, the slackened jaw, the partially open mouth that suddenly seemed unable to form any words. Dean had been expecting all of it, so he really wasn’t surprised to see it.</p><p>“I beg you pardon?” the priest managed to let out after a while, and his voice sounded strained, nothing but a low, struggled whisper.</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Dean replied, nodding. “Sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. And trust me, it’s possible. Been done before, even, just… well, not like this.”</p><p>He chose to leave out the fact that practically <em>all</em> the other times something like this had been done before—at least that they knew of, anyway—<em>God</em> had been the one to do it. He thought that would be crossing the line, and he didn’t want to freak the poor guy out <em>too </em>much.</p><p>Father Jones still looked like he had absolutely no idea how to process what he’d just heard, much less what to say in response to it. For at least a couple minutes, all that he seemed able to do was just stare at Dean—waiting for the hunter to burst out laughing, maybe, to tell him that this whole thing was nothing more than a joke, just a prank of some sort.</p><p>But of course, that didn’t happen. A weird, tense sort of staring contest took place for a beat, and through all of it, Dean just sat there, holding the other man’s intense stare unwaveringly, schooling his features into a mask of calm and confidence, hoping that would be enough to tell Jones that he was definitely not playing any games here, that he might be able to convey the real seriousness of the situation with his eyes alone.</p><p>And eventually, Father Jones’s expression finally shifted. The surprise faded from his features, and he closed his mouth, pressing his lips into a thin line. A small crease appeared between his brows, and he leaned back in his chair, shoulders looking awfully stiff and tense.</p><p>A weird, unsettling look took over his eyes as he regarded Dean. He studied the hunter for a beat—much more carefully this time, like he was just now truly seeing him, somehow.</p><p>“Your reputation certainly precedes you, Dean Winchester,” the man finally said, and his voice sounded almost… awed, in a way. “And I have to admit—I may have been a bit… dubious, about some of the things I’ve heard about you, but now I catch myself rethinking my own skepticism toward all the tales I’ve heard over the past few years.”</p><p>Dean huffed, remembering what all those hunters had told him and Sam just a few years ago, at Asa Fox’s funeral—that apparently, ‘the Winchester brothers’ were quite the celebrities amongst the hunter community. They were famous—legends, even, and they hadn’t even known about it before that day.</p><p>Briefly, Dean wondered what kinds of stories Father Jones might have heard about him.</p><p>“Sam and I have been through a lot over the years,” Dean conceded, “But I doubt you’d believe even half of it, if I told you.”</p><p>A small smile touched the man’s lips, but he didn’t look amused—no, his expression seemed almost… bittersweet, the look in his eyes still unsettling and sharp, measuring Dean carefully, as if considering the truth in the hunter’s words, weighing them carefully in his mind.</p><p>Once again, Dean held his gaze unwaveringly, without blinking, hoping the confidence he was conveying with his expression alone would be enough to convince the man that he was being completely honest.</p><p>Instead of asking Dean to elaborate, to ‘try him’ and give him some examples of all the extraordinary things he’d done that he was so sure the priest wouldn’t believe if he told him, the next thing Father Jones asked was a low, “How did you meet an angel?”</p><p>There was a note of… something in the man’s voice, something new, and that definitely hadn’t been there before. Sure, Dean could hear the curiosity in there, the wonder, but there was something else underlying his words now that the hunter couldn’t quite put his finger on. He sounded almost… bitter, in a way? Not too much, but still enough for Dean to pick up on it.</p><p>Dean licked his lips again, thinking over his next words, choosing them extra carefully. “Not by being a good, devoted Christian, I’ll tell you that,” he said, and he meant it as a joke, but it fell flat, his tone coming out just a little off.</p><p>Father Jones kept staring at him with those intense, piercing eyes of his, without even the tiniest hint of amusement to be found in his gaze.</p><p>So Dean cleared his throat, then added, “But that really doesn’t matter—why or how I met him. What matters is that he should be here, alive, so I’m bringing him back.”</p><p>A small frown formed on the man’s brows, but that weird, unsettling look finally faded from his eyes. Suddenly, he seemed simply confused. “Is that even… allowed?”</p><p>Dean couldn't help it—he huffed, letting out a tiny chuckle that he didn’t quite manage to hold back. “Don’t worry about that, Father. I’m not getting in trouble for this—and neither are you, for helping me.”</p><p>That was apparently not enough to ease all of the man’s worries. That concerned frown was still there, firmly in place, causing a small crease to form between his furrowed brows. The look in his eyes still seemed way too serious, eyes too sharp and measuring, unnervingly focused as he seemed to consider the hunter much more carefully than before, as if looking for something on his face.</p><p>What exactly that might be, Dean had no freaking idea.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Dean,” the man finally said, amidst a small, tired sigh. “I can’t help but be… concerned, about what all of this entails, about the consequences of what you’re planning to do. I’m sure there’s a lot more to know about all this that you’re not telling me—or maybe a lot that you <em>can’t </em>tell me—but I’m just trying to understand what the repercussions of this may be—of me helping you, I mean. I’m sure you can understand that.”</p><p>Oh, wow, okay. So apparently, this wasn’t going to be as easy as Dean had thought it would.</p><p>Maybe he <em>shouldn’t </em>have told the guy the truth, after all.</p><p>Well, guess it was time to change tactics, then.</p><p>“Listen, Father,” Dean started, sitting up straighter in his chair, even going so far as to square his shoulders. He leaned forward a bit, too, to make sure that he had the man’s full attention, holding the priest’s gaze unwaveringly. And yeah, okay, maybe his voice also came out a bit sharper than before, harder, just a tiny bit less friendly, but honestly? Dean really couldn’t find it in himself to care about that. Maybe intimidating the guy a little bit might actually help getting this thing done a little faster.</p><p>Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn’t, but at this point, Dean was more than willing to test out that theory.</p><p>“I know you’re worried,” he continued, in that same firm, steady tone, “and that you don’t really understand what I’m asking of you here, but I’m gonna be super real with you for a sec—no filter, not caring if I sound insane or if I might freak you out, okay? I’m gonna talk, and you’re gonna listen, and you’re not gonna interrupt to ask questions or say anything until I’m done, alright? Think you can do that?”</p><p>Father Jones’ eyes were a little wider by the end of Dean’s speech, and he looked pretty freaking uncertain all of a sudden—almost nervous, really, but he still nodded in silent agreement—albeit slowly, carefully, like he wasn’t sure that he actually wanted to agree to this.</p><p>But, well, that was already good enough for Dean, so he started talking again, just letting his next few words spill out of his mouth before he could think better of it, before he could second-guess himself and decide that maybe he shouldn’t be doing this.</p><p>“Well, to summarize, the world almost ended about a month ago.”</p><p>The priest’s eyes widened even more at that, and his eyebrows rose, shooting up all the way to his freaking hairline. He opened his mouth—probably to call bullshit on Dean’s admission, to question it somehow, but the hunter was quick to raise a hand, forefinger stretched in a wordless reminder of their agreement, and the man hurried to close his mouth shut again, pressing his lips together unhappily, without uttering another word.</p><p>Good.</p><p>“I’m not gonna tell you why or how it happened, but that’s the truth. And Castiel—the angel I’m gonna bring back, he… he sacrificed himself, to make sure that we’d have a chance at saving it.” His voice faltered a bit, losing some of its previous strength, but Dean didn’t allow that to stop him. He swallowed drily, trying to get rid of the lump that’d formed in his throat, and forced himself to keep talking, to keep pushing more words out of his mouth. “He died, so that we—me, Sam and… someone else.” He elected <em>not</em> to tell Father Jones about Jack—and, well, that he was literally the devil’s son. He thought that might be a little <em>too</em> much. The guy might actually have a freaking stroke or something, which really wouldn’t help Dean right now.</p><p>“Cas died so that we could keep fighting,” he added, hoping that the small show of familiarity that came with him shortening Cas’ name might do something to help. “And now the world is here, still turning, still going on like nothing happened, but he’s not here to see it. He’s just… gone. You, me and everyone else on this freaking planet are only here because of <em>him. </em>After everything, he <em>deserves </em>to be here, so I don’t care about whatever cosmic consequences or whatever other bullshit you might be thinking about. I’m bringing him back, even if it’s the last thing I do, or I’ll die trying—which is also a possibility here, by the way. But I don’t care, so don’t you fucking <em>dare</em> get all high and mighty on me now. You can either help me, and do something really freaking good, or I’ll find someone else who will.”</p><p>The priest seemed truly startled now, his eyes big and wide with surprise and disbelief. He was staring at Dean like the hunter had just grown a second head right in front of him—which was expected, really. Dean would honestly be a little surprised if the man <em>didn’t </em>have that kind of reaction.</p><p>Still, he kept going, ignoring the alarmed look he was getting and deciding to just rip the band-aid right off—with just one sharp, quick tug, without thinking too much about it.</p><p>“God’s on board with it, too, by the way. It was actually his idea, so he’s not gonna be mad at you or anything.”</p><p>Now <em>that</em> was enough to make Father Jones’ eyes grow so wide, it really looked like they were about to just pop right out of their sockets. He opened his mouth to speak, but it took him a while to manage to let out even a single word, like he couldn’t quite get his voice to work, or maybe he just couldn’t find any words to say.</p><p>But Dean waited patiently, giving the man a moment to process what was probably some pretty shocking, life-altering, earth-shattering information.</p><p>At last, the priest finally managed a low, croaky, “You… you’re telling me that you—<em>you… </em>that you know <em>God?” </em>It sounded like the man was barely managing to keep it together, like he could barely even let those words out.</p><p>Again, Dean really wasn’t surprised.</p><p>He shrugged, nodding. “Yeah. Not gonna tell you how, though, but… yeah, I know him. And this spell that I’m doing, it was his idea. And before you ask—no, he can’t do it himself, because of cosmic rules or whatever. So that’s why I’m here, and if you could just so kindly agree to help me, I’ll be gone and out of your hair in like, ten minutes tops, and you'll get some points with the Big Guy. How does that sound?” Honestly, Dean was more than ready to be done with this conversation, so he was really going all-out here.</p><p>Father Jones was silent for a while. That was the longest pause in the conversation that they’d had so far, and the longer that silence stretched on for, the more anxious Dean became. He grew antsy in his chair, but he held himself back from shifting his weight in his seat, and instead forced himself to hold the other man’s gaze for as long as he had to, wordlessly daring him to doubt all the things the hunter had just told him, once again doing his best to school his features into a mask of confidence and calm.</p><p>Eventually, the priest let out a sigh. His expression shifted, uneasiness fading, giving place to something that looked a lot like resignation. He leaned back in his seat, suddenly looking tired and worn as he raised a hand to rub at the smooth, shaved skin around his mouth. His eyes looked a bit glassy and distant, like his mind was far away from that room.</p><p>Dean really wasn’t sure what to make of that blatant shift in the man’s demeanor. It looked like he was still debating, still having some sort of internal battle with himself, which probably wasn’t good.</p><p>Maybe Dean had been too honest? Maybe he should have held himself back a bit more, filtered his words a little more carefully?</p><p>But what was done was done now, and he couldn’t take it back. And, well, if push came to shove, he could always just find another—</p><p>“What do you need me to do?”</p><p>Dean was so startled by those words that it took him a moment to process the meaning behind them, and he spent a couple seconds just blinking dumbly at the man sitting across from him, until he finally managed to snap himself out of it and shape his lips around some actual <em>words.</em></p><p>“Your blood,” he answered. “Just a vial of it. That’s it.”</p><p>The priest raised his eyebrows again. “And that’s it?”</p><p>Dean nodded. “Yeah. You help me out with that, and I promise, you’ll never have to see me ever again.”</p><p>And that was how, ten minutes later, just as promised, Dean was marching out of that church with a small vial filled with warm, freshly drawn blood hidden away in the pocket of his pants, because he didn’t think of wearing a jacket today. It was warm out, though—unusually so, considering it was fucking <em>December</em> and all, so he thought he got a pass.</p><p>Once he found himself in the safety of his car, Dean threw a quick glance around to make sure there was no one close enough to peek in through the Impala’s clear glass windows and see what he was doing, before he pulled out the vial, staring at it under the bright morning sun. He moved it carefully, watching the dark, thick liquid swirl inside the tiny glass body of the vial, completely mesmerized.</p><p>That small vial of blood had just brought him one step closer to having all the ingredients for Rowena’s spell.</p><p>Sure, there were a lot of doubts surrounding Jack’s plan—would Cas’ blood work for the spell? Would the amulet even work in the Empty? What if Dean died as soon as he got there? What if he couldn’t find Cas, even with the amulet? What if the Shadow found him first? What if he found Cas, but couldn’t get his Grace out in the Empty? What if Jack couldn’t get him and Cas out once everything was done?</p><p>All those doubts and uncertainties were constantly just <em>there, </em>lingering in the back of Dean’s mind, circling his thoughts like a bunch of fucking vultures ever since they’d spoken with Jack.</p><p>But in that moment, Dean pushed all of them away, shoving all those dark, hopeless thoughts into the back of his mind as he let himself bask in the knowledge that he was one step closer to getting Cas <em>back.</em></p><p>And that thought alone was already enough to make that crushing, unrelenting ache inside of him feel just a tiny bit more bearable.</p><p>He closed his fist around the vial, feeling it still a little warm against his palm. He smiled—a small, watery thing that raised the corners of his mouth just a couple inches. He brought his fist up, touching the skin of his fingers gently to his lips as he let out a tiny, shaky breath, letting his eyes slip closed.</p><p>“I’m bringing you back,” he whispered, voice coming out shaky and barely even audible—but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t like Cas could hear him, anyway.</p><p>But, well, that definitely wasn’t enough to stop him.</p><p>“I’m bringing you home, you hear me? I don’t care what the fuck I have to do, how many unfairly powerful sons of bitches I have to fight to get to you. I’m getting you outta that place. You just hang on tight, Cas. You just wait.”</p><p>He repeated those words inside his head for a while, as if he said them enough times, if he hung on to them tight enough, he might manifest them into reality.</p><p>But he didn’t linger in that parking lot for too long, because again, he couldn’t waste any more time, and as soon as that thought registered in his head again, he snapped himself out of it and let his eyes slip open again, turning in his seat so that he could put the vial of blood away, tucking it gently into the inside pocket of his backpack. He handled it carefully, almost reverently, like that vial was the single most precious thing he owned.</p><p>And in that moment, that was <em>almost</em> true—except for his green jacket. Right now, that jacket was truly the most important, most precious of his possessions.</p><p>He had to make a quick stop at the motel to get his things and pick up Miracle, because even though he’d already known that he wouldn’t be spending another night in this town, he hadn’t had a place to leave the dog, and he <em>definitely </em>wasn’t going to be a heartless asshole and just leave the poor puppy locked up in his car while he talked to Father Jones.</p><p>Once things were all wrapped up at the motel, Dean slipped back inside his car and placed a few more phone calls, asking around for a bit until he finally found another hunter who could help him. He wrote down a few directions, thanked Garrett profusely and told him to call if he ever needed anything, and then he finally—<em>finally</em> found himself speeding out of Sheridan, pressing his foot down onto the gas as far as it would go.</p><p>He was still one ingredient short, but now he had a pretty good idea of where to find the last one, and as he watched the constant string of yellow lines painted onto the dark asphalt disappearing under the Impala, Dean continued to repeat that prayer inside his head, clinging to the words like a mantra, hoping that if he thought them enough times, he might actually will them to become true.</p><p>
  <em>You just hang on, Cas. I’m bringing you back. I’m bringing you <strong>home.</strong></em>
</p><p>
  <em>Even if it’s the last thing I do.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>*~*~*~*~*</strong>
</p><p>“So, you’re really doing this, then?”</p><p>Sam looked up, startled, as it was only then that he realized he wasn’t alone in that room anymore. Apparently, he’d been so distracted, so lost in the chaotic, confusing whirlwind that currently made up his thoughts that he didn’t even notice it when Eileen walked into the kitchen. He didn’t even know how long she’d been there for—just standing by the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest as she gave Sam what he could only describe as a sad, almost forlorn look.</p><p>The chances that she <em>hadn’t</em> noticed the bag he’d placed on the floor by the door when he’d come into this room only a few minutes ago were very, <em>very </em>slim, so he had a pretty good idea as to why she was looking at him like that. At that thought, he clenched his jaw and tore his gaze away from her, focusing his eyes on the coffee maker, which sat quietly on its usual perch on top of the small cabinet right beside the door. For a moment, he simply watched as a thin trickle of coffee started pouring into the clear glass jar, while the machine emitted a low, soft gargle.</p><p>Until finally, he answered with a low, hoarse, “You know I have to.” He still wasn’t looking directly at her, but he was facing her, so she should have no problems with reading his lips and figuring out what he’d just said.</p><p>He kept his eyes stubbornly focused on the coffee maker for a while longer, but he still heard it when Eileen sighed—out of tiredness or frustration, Sam couldn’t tell without actually looking at her. “You know, Dean said the same thing to me when he left.”</p><p>Sam clenched his teeth again, feeling a spark of annoyance at the sudden reminder that Eileen had actually just <em>let </em>Dean go, just let him take all his things and simply walk out the freaking door, without even bothering to warn Sam or anything. She hadn’t even tried to <em>stop </em>him.</p><p>But now wasn’t the time to go back to that topic. They’d already had a pretty bad argument about it last night, and Sam really didn’t want a repeat of that whole thing. He’d felt pretty awful about it afterwards.</p><p>He'd been the one who let Dean walk away, after all. He should have gone after him, when Dean had stormed out of the dungeon. He should have pushed him a little more. He should have tried harder. Dean was bound to open up eventually—he always did, if Sam managed to wear him down, if he pushed him far enough.</p><p>But truth be told, Sam hadn't thought that Dean would just take off on his own again, not when he'd left all the spell ingredients behind when he stormed out of the room. Sam had decided to give Dean a bit of space, to let him cool down a little before he went after him to try and talk to him again. He hadn't imagined that Dean would just go right back to the dungeon after Sam was gone, pack everything up and leave without so much as a freaking goodbye.</p><p>And that had been his mistake.</p><p>“I can’t let him do this,” he whispered, shaking his head weakly. His voice sounded too low, too weak, barely even audible, but fortunately that didn’t really matter right now. Eileen could still understand him, and that’s what mattered.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Eileen take a few steps forward, but she paused while she was still standing a few feet away from Sam, still keeping her distance. “And you still think you might be able to change his mind?”</p><p>“I have to try,” he replied, finally turning his head to look at her again. And when he met her gaze, he found her staring at him with a pair of wide, begging brown eyes. The look he found in them seemed to have grown about a hundred times sadder than before, loaded with far too many emotions for him to read right now.</p><p>Still, he insisted, “I have to. I can’t just sit around and wait for Dean to get himself killed.”</p><p>Eileen shook her head—weakly, halfhearted, tilting her head so she could give Sam what he could only describe as a sad, pleading look. “You don’t know that that’s gonna happen.”</p><p>Sam shrugged. “Yeah, but I don’t know that it won’t, either.”</p><p>Eileen sighed again, shaking her head. She threw a glance over at the coffee maker, and her gaze turned almost contemplative as she stared at it for a long, silent moment.</p><p>Eventually, she asked, “Did you even sleep last night? Because you didn’t spend the night in your room, or in mine.”</p><p>Sam pursed his lips, tearing his gaze away from her again so that he could check the progress of the coffee maker. The jar was about half-full at that point, so it shouldn’t take too long until he could finally stuff himself full of caffeine, and then he would be ready to hit the road.</p><p>“I think so,” he replied with a small, halfhearted shrug. “I’m pretty sure I passed out at some point. Woke up still sitting in my chair, lying halfway over the table with a bunch of papers stuck to my face. Don’t know how long I was asleep for, though.” He also had a killer ache in his muscles, and his back had complained at every single move he made for about two hours after he woke up, but he chose not to comment on any of that right now.</p><p>Eileen gave him what he could only describe as a disapproving look. “So you basically got close to no sleep at all last night—not any <em>good</em> sleep, anyway—and you still want to get behind the wheel of a car?”</p><p>Okay, so she <em>really</em> hadn’t missed the bag, then. Honestly, Sam shouldn’t have even hoped that she had. She was a hunter, after all—being incredibly perceptive was pretty much in the job description, so hoping that something like that could have possibly slipped past her had been pointless from the very start.</p><p>Being careful not to let any of his frustration show, Sam simply shrugged again. “I’m fine—just need a caffeine boost. But I'm okay to drive, really. I’m not even that tired. I guess I must be running on adrenaline or something.”</p><p>And he was being completely honest with that—really, he was. He <em>was </em>fine. He felt pretty awake and alert, even if he’d only gotten a couple of hours of sleep last night, at most—and while sitting in a freaking chair, no less. In truth, he was only making himself a fresh batch of coffee to make sure that things would <em>stay</em> that way, and that he had a way to keep himself awake while he was on the road, to make sure that he wouldn’t suddenly get hit with an overwhelming sense of tiredness and risk falling asleep behind the wheel, and not because he actually felt dead on his feet.</p><p>And besides, he’d driven on a lot less sleep before, under much worse and adverse circumstances. This really shouldn’t be a problem.</p><p>Eileen definitely didn’t look happy to hear that, but fortunately, she didn’t add anything to it. Instead, she simply pressed her lips together and asked, “Did you even find anything? After staying up all night?”</p><p>It was Sam’s turn to purse his lips unhappily, pressing them into a thin line. He turned his head again so he could glare at the coffee maker while he shook his head. “No.”</p><p>He’d spent literal <em>hours</em> looking through every single book, every single text, every single website that he could find, scouring basically anything that he could get his hands on. He’d even gone through the trouble of translating a few parts of an ancient Latin text on angels that he’d found several years ago and that he’d never found the time to work on, but he'd given up on it once he realized that there really wasn’t anything useful on it.</p><p>It was just as Dean said—if you weren’t God, or Death, or any other insanely powerful entity, there was just no way to bring an angel back from the Empty, especially if Cas had actually made a deal with the Shadow.</p><p>But Sam wasn’t ready to give up just yet. They <em>had</em> God on their side, and Jack was willing to help (at least to some extent), so there had to be another way that <em>didn’t </em>involve simply tossing Dean into the Empty with a shiny amulet and hoping for the best. They just had to look hard enough to find it. That’s what they always did, so why did <em>this </em>have to be any different?</p><p>“Maybe that’s because there just isn’t anything to find.”</p><p>Sam turned back to Eileen quickly, giving her what he assumed came out as a truly exasperated look. “I can’t think like that.”</p><p>Eileen let out another sigh—this one coming out heavier, like she was tired, or like her patience was running out. “Sam, maybe… maybe there's just nothing you can do. Dean’s not just gonna give up on this. Even I know that.”</p><p>“No, yeah, I know that too,” he replied, nodding. “Really, I do. This isn’t the first time we lost Cas. I know he’s not gonna just… magically get better, somehow, if we just wait long enough. That only ever happened when we got Cas back. And I <em>want</em> to get him back—of course I do. Cas deserves to be here, maybe even more than Dean and I do. He’s the reason why we even <em>got </em>here in the first place. He’s the reason why we survived through everything—every Apocalypse, every war between Heaven and Hell. I just hate that he’s not here. And it’s not just that, either—I mean, I miss him too. He's pretty much like a brother to me—and I know he's like a brother to Dean, too. I mean, just look at what he's willing to do to get Cas back.”</p><p>It really looked like Eileen wanted to say something there—the look in her eyes shifted suddenly, and she even opened her mouth a little bit, pulling in a tiny breath in preparation, but she seemed to change her mind about it right at the last second. She pressed her lips together again, and her features turned almost pensive as she shook her head—minutely, like she was having an internal battle of some sort, like she was having an argument with herself inside her own head.</p><p>When she didn’t say anything for a while, Sam decided to just keep going.</p><p>“I <em>want</em> to bring Cas back—I really, <em>really</em> do, but I just don’t think this is the way to do it. There’s gotta be a better way—one that doesn’t involve so many ‘I don’t knows’ and ‘what ifs’. We just have to… to take a step back and really think this through, until we figure out how to do this right, until we find a safer, more certain way to do this. One that doesn't involve Dean just strolling into the Empty and hoping for the best, and ideally, one that doesn't include us turning Cas human without even talking to him about it first, without making sure that's something that he'd actually <em>want</em>. I just don't feel good making that kind of decision for him, you know? There's gotta be a better way. I just have to make Dean see that.”</p><p>The look in Eileen’s eyes seemed to have grown even sadder by the time he was done talking, which definitely didn’t make Sam feel very confident about whatever she was about to say next.</p><p>Her voice was nothing but a shy, sad whisper when she finally asked, “What if he doesn’t?”</p><p>There was something… new shining back at Sam from her eyes, something that he really wasn’t sure what to make of, and that he definitely didn’t know how to name. The sight of it had him frowning in confusion, because it almost looked like… like she knew something that he didn’t, like she was seeing something that he was missing, and she seemed oddly confident about it, too.</p><p>But that didn’t make sense. Sam knew Dean better than anyone, so there was just no way that she was seeing something that he wasn’t.</p><p>So instead of commenting on that, or even asking her <em>why</em> she was looking at him like that, he simply asked, “The last time Cas died, do you know what Dean did?”</p><p>Eileen pressed her lips together again, offering him nothing more than a small, subtle shake of her head.</p><p>“He killed himself,” was Sam’s answer. His voice shook as he said it, coming out weak, strained, nothing more than a pained whisper. “There’s really no other way to put it. We were working this hunt—a haunting, at an old, abandoned house in Colorado. Some kid went missing when he and a friend broke into it, and then his friend disappeared too, just a few days later, and we… we knew there were more people who’d died in that place, but we had no idea where to even start looking for the bodies, so Dean… he gave himself an injection to stop his heart, and then after a while I was supposed to give him another one—pure adrenaline, after one minute on the dot, to bring him back. But when his minute was up and I gave him the second shot, it just… it didn’t work—or at least not at first. Death—well, Billie, she showed up, and she wanted to talk to Dean. She wanted some information from him, so he made a deal with her—he’d tell her what she wanted to know, and she would free all the ghosts that were stuck in that place, and once that was done, she brought him back. But after it was all said and done, Dean just… he said he wouldn’t care, if she hadn’t. It was almost like… like he <em>wanted</em> to die. Can you believe that?”</p><p>Sam failed to hold back a wince, recalling how much it’d hurt back then, to realize <em>that</em> had been the reason why Dean had offered to kill himself for that case in the first place, like someone had carved into his chest and pulled out his freaking heart.</p><p>Fortunately, though, that pain hadn’t lasted for too long—no, it’d quickly been replaced by relief, since they got a call from Cas soon after that, on their drive home from that exact same case. Of course, that whole episode had haunted Sam's thoughts for weeks after it'd happened, even if Cas was back, and he found himself fearing what would happen if they ever lost Cas again, what Dean would be willing to do in order to deal with his grief. Sam had hoped, back then, that they would never have to deal with Cas dying ever again.</p><p>But they were the Winchesters, and nothing ever went the way they hoped it would.</p><p>“And these last few weeks, whenever I looked at Dean, whenever I tried to talk to him… I saw it happening all over again. The lost, hopeless look in his eyes, the way he just… doesn’t care, about anything. He’s not eating right, and he’s probably not sleeping too—I mean, we’ve both heard him, wandering about late at night, and I can see the bags forming under his eyes. I’m pretty sure he's lost some weight, too. And the drinking—don’t even get me <em>started</em> on the drinking. I mean, I'm not blind. I know he already drinks way too much normally, but he’s really pushing the limits now. Did you know we just ran out of Jack Daniel's? We had <em>eight</em> damn bottles of it a month ago, but he polished every single one of them off, all on his own. Honestly, I don't know how the hell his liver's still working at this point.”</p><p>He shook his head, raising a hand so he could run it over his short, uneven beard. He hadn’t shaved this morning, but he could probably put it off for a couple more days without getting <em>too </em>scruffy.</p><p>“He’s spiraling down the same deep, dark hole that he went down back then—actually, I think he’s even <em>worse </em>this time. And if I don’t do something about it soon, if I don’t try to snap him out of it… this is gonna end just like it did back then, except he won’t come back this time. I know he won't. And I knew this was gonna happen eventually. I <em>knew </em>it was only a matter of time before he found a reason to put his life on the line again, just like he did last time, and now it’s here. He found a reason—and of course that reason is a suicide mission to go to freaking Empty and get Cas back. <em>Of course</em> it is. I really shouldn’t have expected anything different.”</p><p>He huffed, shaking his head again. His voice was growing stronger, louder as he talked, but he saw no reason to try and reel in all the frustration he was feeling in that moment. He felt like a heating kettle—there was a dangerous amount of pressure building up inside of him, and if he didn’t let any of it out, he was bound to explode eventually—and by the looks of it, that would be happening sooner rather than later.</p><p>But at least the look he found in Eileen’s eyes helped abate some of his frustration—the broken, teary look that he found being directed at him, like she just couldn't bear to watch him hurting like this, like she could almost feel his pain. It broke his heart to see it, but there wasn't anything that he could do to fix it, to send that look away.</p><p>His voice came out much weaker after that, barely even a whisper—but again, that didn’t really make a difference right now, so Sam didn’t let himself worry about it. “He’s not gonna stop. Even if something goes wrong, even if he can’t find Cas, even if everything goes to Hell… he’s not gonna stop. And Jack won’t be able to save him this time—not while he’s in the Empty. And if the Shadows finds him… Dean will be lost forever—both of them will. And then all of this will have been for <em>nothing.”</em></p><p>Eileen didn’t seem to know what to say to that—the shattered look in her eyes only grew even more intense, like she really couldn’t bear to think about that particular scenario either, like the single thought of what Sam had just described was just too painful.</p><p>But Sam kept going. He could feel the words bubbling up in his throat, and he just let to let them out, before he burst from all that pressure. “I can’t lose him. After everything we’ve been through, everything we did to get here… just to have him get himself killed like that. I can’t do it. I can’t just sit around and let him go through with this. And if I have to drag him back here, kicking and screaming, just so he’ll actually <em>listen</em> to me, then that’s what I’ll do, because at least he’ll be alive.”</p><p>Eileen swallowed visibly, taking a moment to think over her next words.</p><p>Finally, she asked, “Do you even know where to find him?”</p><p>No, he didn’t. Dean wasn’t answering his calls, or his texts, he’d disabled the GPS on his phone, and he’d clearly gotten rid of the jack that they’d put on the Impala, so Sam had no way to track him. Also, he had no freaking idea where Dean might be headed.</p><p>But he would find a way.</p><p>“I’ll find him,” he said, and his words came out strong, confident—much more than he was actually feeling. “I always do.”</p><p>Eileen didn’t question his certainty, and instead simply offered him a small, subtle nod.</p><p>"And I mean, I... I didn't see it, but you said he was carrying a bag, so if he took all those ingredients, he must have taken the jacket, too—the one I told you about? That had the bloody handprint on the shoulder? He was wearing it, when we met up after Cas died, so I... I really think that blood was Cas', so that's probably the blood that he's planning to use for the spell." Eileen offered another nod, confirming that she remembered the conversation they'd had about this a few weeks ago. "So if he does find those last two ingredients, then he'll have everything he needs for that spell, but I... I'm still hoping that he... that he won't just get that amulet ready and go to the Empty, that maybe he heard my messages. He didn't even say goodbye, so maybe... maybe he'll come back here, before he prays to Jack."</p><p>Eileen hesitated before replying to that. She seemed to think about her answer for a moment, and it looked like there was something that she wanted to say, but it looked like she was once again having some sort of internal battle in her mind.</p><p>Finally, she nodded. "I'll call you, if he shows up here."</p><p>She didn't look too confident about it, but Sam really didn't have the energy to keep arguing with her about this, so instead of commenting on it, he simply nodded back at her, offering her a tight, toothless smile.</p><p>But apparently, Eileen still wasn't done, and it was clear that there was still something on her mind. She shifted her weight on her feet, crossing her arms over her chest as she apparently struggled with putting whatever thoughts were bouncing around in her head into words.</p><p>Sam waited patiently, and when she finally seemed to find the words she wanted to say—well, they certainly weren’t what he’d been expecting to hear.</p><p>“If he doesn’t do this now… you do realize you might lose him anyway, right?”</p><p>Those words were like another stab right to his heart, and Sam actually flinched the moment he heard them, but he was quick to shake his head, trying to send them away.</p><p>No. He wouldn’t let that happen—not this time.</p><p>“We’ll find another way.”</p><p>It was pretty easy to see that Eileen didn’t feel too confident about that, but Sam was very thankful when she didn’t actually say anything in response.</p><p>A heavy, stifling silence filled the room after that, but Sam did his best to ignore it, and when the coffee maker finally gave its last gargle and the jar was full at last, Sam moved quickly, crossing the room in just a couple of big, confident strides so he could grab his coffee, expertly pouring it into the thermos he’d put aside for that specific purpose. He’d planned to drink one mug of that coffee here, but now he no longer thought that was a good idea. He doubted Eileen would let him simply enjoy his coffee quietly for a moment—and if she did, well, he definitely didn’t want to spend even another minute enduring the tense, loaded silence that had taken over the air around them.</p><p>So he cradled his thermos in his hand, stepped over to the door and picked up his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder without another word. And it was only after that was done that he allowed himself to turn back around to look at Eileen again—only to find that sad, shattered look was still firmly in place, displayed clearly in her dark brown eyes, which were now shining, slowly filling up with tears.</p><p>The sight of it was so painful, so unbearably heart-wrenching that Sam had to pause where he stood, feet suddenly glued to the floor, hand grasping the strap of his bag as he stared back at her, trying to find some more words to say. He almost wanted to apologize to her, for putting her through all this, but all of a sudden, he just couldn’t find his voice.</p><p>Until finally, he snapped out of it and shook his head. His eyes were stinging by that point, and his voice came out absolutely wrecked, but at least Eileen couldn’t hear how it broke around every single word when he said, “I have to do this. I just… I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t.”</p><p>Eileen offered him a small, sad smile as she took a few timid steps forward, finally closing the distance between them. She raised a hand, resting it on his forearm, squeezing lightly at his bicep. The look in her eyes was still sad, but it'd turned warm, filled with something very close to understanding as she nodded at him.</p><p>"I know," she whispered, moving her hand up even higher so that she could cup his face as she raised herself onto the tips of her feet, leaning in slowly and pressing a light, tender kiss to his lips.</p><p>When they broke apart, Sam leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together and staring right into Eileen's eyes. His chest still felt heavy and tight, still filled with worry and fear, but somehow, she'd managed to make that weight feel just a tiny bit lighter.</p><p>"Thank you," he whispered back at her, and even if she probably couldn't see his mouth, the way her face lit up and a bigger, more genuine smile formed on her lips let him know that she knew exactly what he'd said regardless.</p><p>He left soon after that, and as he carefully guided one of the Men of Letters' vintage cars out of the garage and onto the road outside, Sam vowed to himself that once this whole mess was sorted out, he would make it up to her.</p><p>Somehow.</p><p>
  <strong>*~*~*~*~*</strong>
</p><p>Getting that damn freaking bone turned out to be a lot more work than Dean had expected, and it took a lot longer than he would’ve liked.</p><p>The thing was, Rowena’s description left way too much room for interpretation, which definitely didn’t help. ‘A bone from a pure, faithful soul’ could mean a lot of things, and depending on which one Dean decided to go with, getting his hands on a bone that fit that particular description definitely wouldn’t be easy.</p><p>And if chose the <em>wrong </em>way to interpret that and the spell didn’t work… well, he just couldn’t have that, could he? That was a risk that he just couldn’t take right now.</p><p>So he’d opted to go with the safest route he could think of—meaning, he did something that he and Sam normally didn’t do, but that proved itself necessary in this case. He didn’t have any room for error here, so while this solution was definitely not ideal, it was certainly the most foolproof way to get this done.</p><p>And that was why the day after he spoke with Garrett on the phone, Dean found himself sitting in a dark, cramped booth at a small, dingy, questionable place that dared to call itself a bar in the outskirts of Tonopah, Nevada, carefully nibbling on the small serving of fries that the waiter had pretty much forced him to order because he couldn’t just ‘sit there and sip water without ordering anything to eat’ as he waited for Garrett’s guy—who called himself ‘The Fox’, for some fucking reason—to show up.</p><p>However, as it turned out, The Fox was actually a woman—and Dean was so fucking embarrassed with himself for automatically thinking it was a guy that he pretty much made a fool of himself when the pretty, blue-eyed redhead slid into his booth wearing a freaking Green Lantern t-shirt and introduced herself. He stuttered and tripped over his words while his entire brain rebooted, until his shock finally wore off and he managed to scrape together what little bit of dignity he still had left.</p><p>Fortunately, The Fox was pretty freaking professional, and she didn’t even bat an eye at his embarrassed, incoherent stuttering as she laid out the rules of the transaction that they would potentially be making—he would tell her what he needed, she would procure said item for a set price, and then they would meet again to finalize their deal. He would pay the full price, in cash, and she would in turn give him the item he’d asked for, no questions asked, from either of them—not about how she’d acquired said item, or why he needed it in the first place.</p><p>The whole thing was pretty freaking direct, and it seemed simple enough, so it was good enough for Dean.</p><p>So he’d told her that he agreed to her terms, and when she’d asked him what kind of item he was looking for, he didn’t offer an explanation, or a backstory—no, all that he told her was, “I need a bone from a pure, faithful soul, whatever that means. And I need the real deal—no room for error. I’m dealing with pretty high stakes here.”</p><p>Once again, The Fox had barely even blinked at his words. She’d simply pursed her lips, giving a tiny little hum as she considered his words, leaning back in her seat. After a beat, she’d turned her head, letting her gaze travel across the room as she carefully sipped her own water, until eventually, she’d nodded, apparently reaching a conclusion of some sort.</p><p>“Three days,” she’d announced, turning back to look at him with those sharp, crystal blue eyes of hers. “Eight hundred dollars.”</p><p>Dean had nearly choked on his water.</p><p>And apparently, that was finally enough to get a reaction out of The Fox—the tiniest, barest curling of her mouth, the shadow of what was probably meant to be an amused smile.</p><p>“That’s the discounted price, Mr. Winchester,” she’d explained. He'd given her an alarmed look, because he <em>hadn't</em> given her his real name, but that only seemed to amuse her even further. “I know exactly who you are. Consider this as a… thank you, for all that you and your brother have done.”</p><p>And <em>that</em> had Dean stuttering all over again.</p><p>Still, as salty as that price was, Dean had still agreed to it—because really, what other choice did he have? It wasn’t like he could just dig up some priest or nun or freaking homeless shelter volunteer and just <em>hope</em> that they qualified as a ‘pure, faithful soul’. Garrett had assured him that The Fox didn’t play around, and that whatever Dean asked for, he would get—no matter how impossible it seemed, so Dean was trusting Garrett’s judgement on this one.</p><p>The Fox had simply nodded at him, clearly pleased, and told him to meet her again at that same bar 72 hours from then, with her money—<em>all </em>of it.</p><p>And then she’d slipped out of the booth without another word, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts, with only his water and soggy, unsavory French fries to keep him company.</p><p>He spent the next three days in Tonopah, mostly hustling pool to try and earn himself some cash that he could use to pay for that freaking bone. And sure, he knew he didn’t actually <em>need</em> to do that, but he still wanted to. After that whole thing with them running out of luck and going up to freaking Alaska to deal with Fortuna, he and Sam had grown the habit of having what they called a ‘security fund’, so that they wouldn’t need to rely solely on their fake credit cards all the time, and so that in case tragedy ever stroke again, they’d at least have <em>some</em> cash safely stored away that they could use for emergencies.</p><p>But while they did have enough money to pay for the bone in that fund, Dean would still feel better if he contributed a little more and didn’t just take all that money out of the account without even telling Sam about it, so he’d fooled some poor, drunk schmucks into losing their money to him every chance he got—which hadn’t been the brightest of ideas, now that he really thought about it. Tonopah was a pretty small town, with just over two thousand inhabitants, so it wasn’t like he had a big variety of hunting grounds that he could choose from over the course of those three days, and he’d almost earned himself a black eye on the second night when he ran into some guy who’d lost over a hundred bucks to him the night before.</p><p>But that wasn’t important. No, what really mattered was that by the third night, counting all the money he got from hustling, plus the small quantity that he’d pulled out from an ATM, he had The Fox’s eight hundred dollars tucked carefully inside a manila envelope, ready to be exchanged for what he hoped would be a pretty special bone.</p><p>And now he was here—sitting in the exact same booth where he’d sat when he'd first met The Fox, with the manila envelope hidden from sight on the inside of his jacket while he sipped on his water and tried to push down a just-as-disappointing serving of what this place <em>dared </em>to call nachos.</p><p>The Fox arrived right on time, wearing a plain red shirt and a black leather jacket this time. She placed a small package onto the table as soon as she slipped into the booth, though she still kept it just out of Dean’s reach, not even bothering to check around to see if anyone was paying attention to them as she did it.</p><p>Dean glanced around briefly, finding that they were apparently in the clear, and after they exchanged the required, applicable pleasantries—which basically consisted of a couple of short, curt words and tiny acknowledging nods—Dean slipped her the envelope with the money. She placed the envelope onto the seat right beside her, between her and the wall so that it would be completely hidden from sight if anyone happened to glance their way, then looked down at it for a minute—probably counting the money, Dean guessed.</p><p>And once she was satisfied with her payment, she tucked the envelope away on the inside of her own jacket, then placed a hand on top of the package and slid it across the table, wordlessly moving it toward Dean.</p><p>Dean pulled the package closer to himself and placed it on his lap, then tore open the top of it and peeked into it, finding a small plastic bag nestled inside, which contained a long, curved, darkened object that was undoubtedly a bone—a rib, if Dean had to take a guess. It looked pretty charred, though, like it’d been burned.</p><p>“Whose is it?” he couldn’t help but ask, even if he knew The Fox had a pretty strict ‘no questions asked’ policy.</p><p>When he looked up, The Fox had one of her eyebrows raised, and she was giving him a pretty piercing look.</p><p>Dean shrugged. “I just wanna make sure this is really what I need. Remember? High stakes and all.”</p><p>The Fox pursed her lips, thinking for a beat, before she finally nodded, apparently conceding. “A nun. Died about a year ago. Always devoted to the church, throughout her entire life. No trouble in her childhood, and she turned to her faith because she wanted to. She was happy. Not a single speck of dirt on her, not even deep in her past. She had some financial problems, but according to those close to her, her faith never wavered. She was always involved in helping people, usually orphaned children. She died young, though, in a fire—trying to save two boys who got stuck in their room in the orphanage she’d been volunteering at. None of them made it out.”</p><p>Well, that explained why the bone looked so charred.</p><p>Dean swallowed drily at that last thought, but still nodded, accepting The Fox’s explanation. That seemed pretty solid to him—certainly someone that he would call a pure, faithful soul.</p><p>Briefly, he wondered how the hell The Fox managed to check this nun’s background so quickly, and to get a bone from her in just under three days, but he knew better than to ask about it. He’d already crossed a line by inquiring about where the bone had come from, and he really didn’t want to push his luck any more than he already had.</p><p>The Fox didn’t linger for long after that. She simply asked Dean if he was satisfied with the bone, and when he gave her a positive response, she was quick to slip out of the booth again without another word, disappearing out the door on the other side of the room without sending so much as a glance behind.</p><p>And, well, that was that.</p><p>Dean didn’t even finish his unsatisfying nachos, and was quick to settle his tab and rush out of that place, cradling his precious package in both of his hands.</p><p>He didn’t leave as soon as he was inside the Impala, though—no, he actually sat in the parking lot of that bar for a while after that. He’d pulled the plastic bag out from the package as soon as he found himself sitting behind the wheel and placed it on his lap, but he didn’t dare to actually open the bag just yet. He wouldn’t do that until he actually needed to, since he was afraid to damage the bone in any way. Replacing it definitely wouldn’t be easy—or cheap—but most importantly, he just didn’t have that kind of time, so he had to be careful with this one.</p><p>And for several minutes, he just stared at it. He just sat there, staring down at that bone, much like he’d done back in Sheridan, after he left the church with Father Jones’ blood safely concealed inside that vial. He could barely believe it—that right there, in that small plastic bag, laid the last thing he needed for Rowena’s spell, the last ingredient that he’d been missing.</p><p>He was yet another step closer to getting Cas back—nevermind what Sam or Jack said, or even what Rowena might say. Nevermind that there was a chance that Cas’ blood might not be enough to get that amulet to work, which meant that Dean would have no way to find Cas in the Empty.</p><p>He wasn’t letting himself think about any of that. He wasn’t letting himself even <em>consider </em>the possibility that this wouldn’t work. Now that he had made so much progress, that he was <em>so much closer</em> to bringing Cas back, he just couldn’t bear the thought of failing. He just couldn’t. That simply wasn’t an option anymore.</p><p>And now, all that he had to do was take all those ingredients down to Hell so Rowena could work her magic, and then he would be good to go.</p><p>After almost <em>five </em>weeks of… of feeling useless, hopeless, without a purpose, he was finally here—with a plan, a mission. All he needed was a <em>spell, </em>and for Jack to throw him into the Empty, and that was it. That was all he needed to bring Cas back.</p><p>At that thought, Dean closed his eyes, pulling in a deep breath, focusing all his energy on his next words—even if once again, he knew they would go unheard.</p><p>“I’m bringing you home, Cas,” he whispered into the dark, silent car around him. “You hear me? I’m bringing you <em>home.”</em></p><p>He stayed like that for a while, as if he might somehow make his words reach Cas all the way in the freaking Empty if he thought them hard enough, until he finally snapped himself out of it and opened up his backpack, tucking the plastic bag with the bone inside, nestling it neatly against his green jacket, rearranging a few items until he was finally satisfied that he’d found a good position for it and that it wouldn’t break or get damaged during transport. He also checked Father Jones' blood to see if it was still nice and viscous—he'd kept it in the fridge for as long as he could, to preserve it a little better, and it still looked pretty good to him, much to his relief.</p><p>And once that was done, he zipped up his bag again and turned the key in the ignition, causing Baby to wake up with a loud, powerful roar before he put her in gear, then tore out of that parking lot without another thought.</p><p>He still had to go to Hell to talk to Rowena, and that meant that he would need to perform the spell he and Sam had been using over the past few years for exactly that purpose—which he couldn’t do entirely on his own. No, he would need an anchor—someone to stay up here on Earth and keep the spell active while he was down there talking to Rowena. Only now, unlike how he’d originally planned to do this, that could no longer be Sam or Eileen.</p><p>But, well, Dean was pretty sure he knew someone else who would help him with this.</p><p>He knew exactly where he had to go next.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next up: Dean visits some friends, and Sam receives a heartbreaking phone call.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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